


Dance to My Heartbeat

by ChibiTabatha



Series: Dance With Me [1]
Category: LazyTown
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Angst, Boss!Íþróttaálfurinn, Cause I'm not tagging them all, Glanni and Sport are Stippers, Heartbreak, I Don't Even Know, Jives is a dad, M/M, No Smut, Other characters aged appropriately, Pole Dancing, Stripper!Glanni, Stripper!Sportacus, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Ziggy is his son, but it's great, heartbreaking kisses, it's cute, probably, tailor!robbie, Íþróttaálfurinn is the Boss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-09-25 01:43:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 29,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9796892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiTabatha/pseuds/ChibiTabatha
Summary: Sportacus gets pulled aside by a senior dancer to get his face done up. Who knew he would like the sassy, snarky man? Who knew the diva would be alright with him hanging around? Who knew that their budding friendship would help lead them into their own romances, both new and old. That their siblings would also get along freakishly well.Also known as, "What the hell brain, what is this fantastic nonsense you're coming up with now?"





	1. The Diva

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to another fun story time with me, ChibiTabatha. Now, I'm not sure where this came from, but it's here now. And I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Another alternate name I thought of using at the behest of one of my friends was "Not the AU You Were Expecting" lol

"Hey," Sportacus' perked up at the deep voice, turning to look in that direction. He pointed at himself brushing waves of blond hair out of his eyes. "Yes, you. Who else is in this room?" the ire rolled off the tall man in waves. Sportacus tried to place a name to the the man but couldn't quite remember it.  
  
"Can I help you..." Sport tried to fish for the name without outright asking.  
  
"Glanni. As in Glanni Glæpur. And you can. Let me do your makeup," the taller man strode into the athletic man's space, towering over him in his heels. "You remind me of someone and I need to fix that or you'll be a distraction."  
  
Sport's eyes widened, Glanni Glæpur, the most asked for dancer wanted to do his makeup? All because he would be a distraction? He couldn't really deny the diva, he was not only his senior, but the man always looked good. "Uhm sure thing Mr. Glæpur," he tried to straighten under the scrutinizing gaze.  
  
"Ew. Glanni. Please. Follow me kid," the taller man turned on a dime and snapped his fingers. The senior dancer strode with a purpose towards the makeup tables, his marked by the hot pink feather boa draped over the mirror. Once Sport had caught up he was shoved roughly into the chair, "God you're so dark. And these freckles! How did you even get a job here? By winning an arm wrestling match?" the scathing words were marked with the application of a cream foundation. "Clearly you must have. Ugh these blemishes," the senior dancer dabbed, brushed and rubbed things all over his face, all while muttering about how dumb the owner was for letting a muscle bound moron onto the stages.  
  
"Uhm Mr." he started but caught himself, "Glanni, are you angry about something involving the person I resemble?"  
  
"Stay still or you get mascara in your eyes," the elder dancer hissed. The deep scowl didn't seem out of place on the other man's face. He muttered something about having more muscles than brains, but he had a feeling it wasn't directed at him.  
  
Holding still and listening to the curt instructions while the other dancer did his makeup was almost soothing. Typically it would take more than a few clipped words to hold him in place but something about the other dancer held him in place. Like the man demanded your full attention and to not give it would be sacrilegious.  
  
"There. Try not to smudge it with your oafish hands," the other man pulled away from him, and it was like he could suddenly breathe and focus again.  
  
Looking towards the mirror he could hardly recognize himself. The soft spatter of freckles was gone, leaving just sun-kissed cheekbones. His eyes looked smoldering, like he was always giving a come-hither look. Every way that he turned the light would shine just the right way off his skin. It was stunning. "Wow... Thank you, this is amazing," he offered a tentative smile at the other dancer.  
  
"What were you expecting to look like? A clown? Not hard with that dumb moustache," the diva crossed his arms and tapped his foot against the ground, his irritation coming off him in waves.  
  
Sport laughed, Glanni was a funny guy, despite the glare that would flay him alive if it could. "Of course I was expecting something amazing. You wouldn't be the most sought-after dancer if you weren't great at what you were doing," he stood from the chair stretching gently.  
  
Glanni's eyes shifted from a glare to scrutiny in a heartbeat. "Well if you understand that much, beat it, I have to get ready myself," the diva turned his back to the other dancer and stalked off.  


* * *

   
Sport could understand fully why Glanni was the most popular dancer. He could barely keep his eyes off the man. Everything about him screamed wild, the way his hair was stylishly unkempt, the smiles that were all teeth, the low growls from deep in his chest. Even his heart raced as the man worked the pole. Long pale limbs, dark makeup and clothing, or lack of clothing at this point, and a flowing movement that reminded him of an animal on the hunt.  
  
Once the night was over he eagerly approached the diva, "You were amazing out there!"  
  
Glanni's icy grey eyes watched the other dancer bounce on his heels, "Did you learn a thing or two while watching me at least?"  
  
A firm grip on Sport's shoulder stopped him from responding to the other male, "Careful, you don't want to inflate his ego too much."  
  
"Íþróttaálfurinn," Glanni's eyes turned to the other man.  
  
"Glæpur," Sportacus looked at his older brother, searching his blue eyes for the reason behind the chilly atmosphere.  
  
"I thought the dancer looked awfully familiar. He's part of your brood, isn't he?" the tallest of the group crossed his arms.  
  
"It would be wise not to test my patience this evening," Íþró crossed his own arms.  
  
Shifting away from the two older males, he glanced between them. Clearly something was going on and he wasn't sure he wanted to be around when the shit hit the fan.  
  
The diva took a few strides into his elder brother's space, leaning heavily against him, running his index finger along the crossed forearms. "What happens if I _test_ that patience? Hmm?" a wicked grin slipped along his face.  
  
Yup, did not want to be around to hear the rest of this. Time to ditch. He barely had time to even shift his weight before his brother spoke, “Easy, I dock your hours.”  
  
Sportacus struggled not to laugh; the complete look of horror on Glanni’s face was priceless. “You wouldn’t _dare_ ,” the lithe man leant back and hissed.  
  
“Test me,” Íþróttaálfurinn’s tone left no room for argument. The diva huffed and stalked off towards the makeup tables, probably to remove the heavy stage makeup. “Try to keep interactions with him to a minimum alright?” his brother’s soft blue eyes twinkled with mirth as they met his own.  
  
Sportacus frowned slightly, “He was perfectly civil with me. Helped me with my makeup and everything. He can’t be all that bad can he?”  
  
“I’ve seen that man destroy people he thought were competition. **Ruined** them Sport. He only shows you the face you want to see most, never the true face underneath,” his brother shook his head, brown hair shifting with the movement.  
  
Sportacus thought about the way the two older men had just acted, how Glanni had acted before while helping him with his makeup, “Did something-”  
  
“ **That’s** none of your concern. Go, change, we have to close up and we can’t have the dancer’s here all night or we’ll never get anything done,” his elder cut him off before turning and marching off into a different part of the building.  
  
The athletic man couldn’t help but be bothered and curious about the situation. Where on earth could Glanni and Íþró have met? School maybe? They clearly weren’t friends, at least any more. Too close to be acquaintances, but they didn’t seem quite as amicable as that.  
  
“If you think to hard you’ll break something in that fragile head of yours,” the voice was scathing.  
  
“Sorry,” he mumbled, trying to distract himself by wiping his face clean. It was a shame to see the elder dancer’s hard work go to waste, but he couldn’t possibly walk to streets with his face so heavily painted.  
  
“No you’re not. You’re a nosey little thing,” the taller man huffed. Sport looked over at him as he applied a dark purple lipstick to his lips. “I can understand your curiosity. Watch it doesn’t bite you in the ass, yes?”  
  
Sport nodded slightly, “I’ll do my best Glanni.” He stripped out of his dancing clothes, he couldn’t think of them in any other way without getting slightly embarrassed, and pulled on his regular clothes.  
  
“Really? Distressed jeans and a t-shirt? What are you? A twelve-year old?” Sport smiled at the disapproving look Glanni was giving him.  
  
“Not all of us are brave enough to wear leather pants, and what is this even?” Sport stepped towards the taller man a touched the sheer fabric of what he thinks is a blouse, but he couldn’t be a hundred percent sure.  
  
“It’s called being comfortable in your own skin Sportadork. _Besides_ I look fantastic in sheer fabrics,” Glanni preened before slapping the younger man’s hands away. He pulled a black vest on, the contrast of the sheer purple fabric and the dark colour of his pants and vest looked good on the pale man.  
  
“It’s Sportacus,” he tried to correct the man, knowing fully well that it would not stick in the man’s mind at all.  
  
The taller man just hummed slightly before turning, “Well Sportadork, it’s been a blast. Tomorrow?”  
  
“Tomorrow?” he echoed the word, unsure if he misheard the other man.  
  
“Yes. Tomorrow, where you will park your butt in my chair and I will fix that atrocious face of yours again,” the taller man dusted his chest off before striding towards the back door.  
  
“R-right! See you tomorrow!” Sportacus smiled and called after the taller man as he exited into the night. “Tomorrow,” he echoed again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are, the end of this chapter, but not the end of the story my friends. Next up we have our lovely Robbie Rotten making an appearance. You don't want to miss out on that!


	2. The Tailor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sportacus gets called in a touch early. But that's okay, everything is fine right?

“You wanted to talk to me?” Sportacus knocked on the door-frame of the small manager’s office.  
  
“Yes. Come in, close the door. Don’t need anyone eavesdropping,” Íþróttaálfurinn motioned for his younger brother to enter the room.  
  
Sport pushed the door closed behind him and sat in the wooden chair in front of his boss. “Did I do something wrong?” he could feel his brows furrowing slightly.  
  
“No. Not at all. I just wanted to warn you that we’ll be having a guest in the back area. Try not to bother them. They’ll be helping out one of the dancers and then leaving,” Íþró didn’t bother looking up from the papers he was reading. “The faster they get their work done the better,” the elder man sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, “if we have an argument break out again it’ll be a never ending nightmare.”  
  
Sportacus was now thoroughly confused, but agreed not to bother the ‘guest’ at all. The most surprising thing was when he exited the office, beside the door examining his nails. “You two done with your family meeting?” the taller man brushed his nails against his pale pink sweater. Sport could only nod; shocked the taller man was at work this early. “Good. Come along,” Glanni snapped his fingers and began sauntering towards the back room. The soft click of his heels quieted as the other dancer put space between them, Sport jumped slightly and jogged after him.  
  
“What did you **_do_**?” an unfamiliar voice wailed.  
  
“I danced. What do you think I did?”  
  
“Ruined my very hard work, that’s what,” Sport’s eyes drew towards the owner of the voice. The man was just as tall as Glanni, a strong chin, warm grey eyes narrowed furiously at the other dancer, “Be more careful!”  
  
“Whatever,” Glanni turned away from the other lanky man and towards him with a pointed look. “Considering how fit you are, you’re slower than molasses. Hurry up and park your butt in the chair,” clearly Glanni was very annoyed now. Not wanting to anger him further Sport quickly moved to the chair and sat in it. “Good, stay here, and don’t move. I need to go get some things,” he rolled his shoulders, an attempt to relieve irritation and tension that clearly wasn’t working. The diva turned and stalked away, heels clicking against the floor at a rapid pace.  
  
Sportacus turned slightly to look at the other man. Those warm grey eyes were focused on the bunched fabric in his hand. The man had long slender fingers, agile and dexterous as he worked a sewing needle through the fabric. His jaw was stronger than Glanni’s, but they both had similar facial structures, their cheek bones almost a perfect match. They both had midnight black hair, but Glanni’s was short and disheveled, the other had it styled in a very sleek, mild pompadour. Unlike the dancer the man only wore a hint of dark purple eye shadow, but it looked good. If Sport had to say, pink was Glanni’s color and purple was this man’s color. He was wearing a simple black turtle neck with deep royal purple slacks. The outfit was eye catching but elegant in its simplicity. “Take a picture it lasts longer,” the taller man mumbled irately.  
  
“Sorry,” the young dancer flushed and turned his head away, looking at his reflection in the mirror. With his eyes diverted from the only other person in the room he took a moment to look at himself. The light dusting of freckles, his tan skin, toned muscles, sandy blond hair that was dark at the roots. Would the mystery man look at him the way he had just been? Probably not, he was engrossed with fixing one of Glanni’s stage outfits. Even while doing that he had noticed Sport staring, so maybe he had been looking at him? Even if it was just a short moment, the thought made his heart flutter slightly.  
  
“Can I get you anything Mr. Rotten?” his brother was suddenly in the mystery man’s space, leaning over his shoulder to examine his handy work.  
  
“Yes. A bother who isn’t a self-centered drama queen,” the man huffed, but there was amusement in his voice, a ghost of a smile on his face.  
  
The familiar way his brother clapped the man on the back with a laugh caused his heart to squeeze painfully. Clearly they knew each other and he was just a stranger, he also had no reason to be feeling like this. Heck, he’s just been sitting here like a creep staring at the guy! “I don’t think anyone can get you that,” Íþró’s blue eyes shone with mirth. “Speaking of brothers, how has mine been treating you?”  
  
“The statue over there? Sitting quietly in place like Glanni asked of him,” a roll of the eyes, annoyance in the tone of voice.  
  
“I’m Sportacus,” he blurted, tensing as his brother turned his gaze towards him.  
  
The tall man looked up from his work, a single brow raised, “Robbie Rotten.”  
  
“Wow little brother, that’s very unlike you to wait so long to introduce yourself. Is something the matter?” his brother’s eyes searched his face, looking for whatever the cause of the sudden behavior switch.  
  
“Well between you and my brother I’m not shocked,” Robbie had returned his gaze to the task in his hands, “you probably told him to be careful and my brother told him to stay put. You’re both a touch overbearing. The poor thing has been sitting there watching me work in silence. How I prefer things Íþróttaálfurinn.”  
  
His brother held up his hands and stepped back, “Alright, alright. I just swung by to ask you again if you wanted a job here. Glanni’s outfits are top notch and I would trust no one else with my dancers.”  
  
The tailor rolled his eyes, “I just do this as a hobby. I’m perfectly content to work my regular job.”  
  
“I think you should work here too. Everyone would look amazing!” when both sets of eyes locked onto him he could feel heat rising to his cheeks.  
  
“Of course a bouncer would think that,” grey eyes rolled once more, once more turning downwards.  
  
“Actually,” Íþró cleared his throat slightly, “Sport here is a dancer. Perhaps you would like a dance from him to prove as much?”  
  
The bundle of fabric hit the ground as Robbie sputtered, Sportacus himself was shaking his head furiously no. “Absolutely _not_ ,” the lithe man adjusted his turtleneck slightly. Standing up he bent to scoop up the fallen wad of fabric, “Nothing against your dancers. I’m sure they’re all great. But no, thank you.”  
  
Sport didn’t want to take it personally, but he did. Maybe the taller man wasn’t interested in him, or interested in other men. “All of my dancer’s look better than the last guy you brought here. He was also an ass. Using you to get to your brother. Disgusting,” either his brother was a mind reader or his face was a lot easier to read than he thought it was.  
  
“Yes well when one flaunts themselves like Glanni does, he’s bound to attract a lot of attention,” Robbie sounded particularly bitter. He wanted to know what happened, but he also wanted to try and cheer the man up. He needs to slow down here; they aren’t friends, or coworkers. Barely even acquaintances!  
  
The sudden sound of heels on the floor snapped all of them out of whatever thoughts they were thinking. Despite Íþróttaálfurinn’s earlier relaxed posture every part of him went stiff, Robbie folded himself gracefully back into his chair, eyes drawn to the needle and thread poking out of the fabric. “I attract a lot of attention because I don’t let our looks go to waste baby brother,” the older dancer purred before sauntering into Íþró’s space.  
  
Robbie just rolled his eyes with a huff, “Quit hitting on him. You’re making me uncomfortable.”  
  
Glanni gently cupped the other man’s face before gently patting it, turning towards Sport. Cool grey eyes stared into his own blue eyes, “At least one person in this building is on my side, aren’t _you_ Sportadork?”  
  
Robbie’s eyes turned towards his elder bother with a scowl as the lithe dancer leaned into Sportacus’ space. “Of course, we’re friends aren’t we?” he offered the man leaning on his a small smile in the mirror.  
  
“Friends?” Glanni said the word like he was tasting it for the first time. “Yes I _suppose_ we could call ourselves that,” he stood straightening his sweater. “Now how much do you trust me with that wonderful hair of yours?” an easy smile slipped over his features.  
  
“Do **not** dye his hair Glæpur or I’ll have your head,” his elder brother’s voice held no room for argument once more. Although he had to agree with him, he did like his sandy-blond locks.  
  
“Of course not it’s part of his charm. Makes him look boyish, innocent almost,” at this statement he wanted to argue that he was neither those things but the look in those cool grey eyes stopped him. “No, we’re just going to style it,” slim fingers ruffled his hair.  
  
“You just want an excuse to touch it,” Robbie muttered darkly.  
  
“I would never make an excuse. If I want to do something I will do it. Thank you very much,” those cool eyes turned from him to the head of his retreating brother. They snaked up and down before returning to the man in his chair. “Now, _how_ do we feel about flat irons?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! 'So soon?' I hear you asking. Sometimes the words, they just come to me. And maybe just maybe Robbie might get that dance


	3. Time with the Taller Siblings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait guys! I had to research some things. Cause I know nothing about male exotic dancers. Hopefully this isn't toooooooo terrible and yeah. Thank god for YouTube videos hahaha.
> 
> Enjoy!

“What about this?”  
  
“No, too flashy.”  
  
“This?”  
  
“Not revealing enough.”  
  
“He has muscles! We can slick him up with some oil, throw him in a pair of shorts.”  
  
“Gross.”  
  
Listening to the back and forth of the taller siblings was a touch disconcerting. Not only had Glanni styled his hair and done his makeup, he was now insisting on picking his wardrobe. Sportacus wanted to stop them, tell them that he wasn’t working the poles. That he was here mostly to watch the other dancers. That he would be practicing in the back unless someone asked for him specifically. He didn’t want to upset the experienced dancer, or his younger brother. So he stayed silent, looking at his now straight hair. It fell loosely around his face; the fringe was pinned up and out of place, waiting for the others to make a decision on the whole look.  
  
“What about a tight white shirt and some fitted blue jeans? Slick his hair back like a greaser,” Robbie tapped his chin, his eyes roaming over the younger dancer.  
  
“It would work for him. Flex for me a bit would you dear?” Glanni’s hand rested on his shoulder.  
  
“Where would you like me to flex?” Sportacus looked up into the cool grey eyes.  
  
“Just your arms,” Glanni patted his shoulder like he was a small child with no clue how to function.  
  
He just shrugged, flexing his biceps, triceps, and just to throw them off he flexed his pectorals one at a time. “Is that good?”  
  
“Maybe the shirt should be kind of see-through. Those chest muscles are impressive as well,” Glanni had taken the same pose as Robbie, tapping his chin in thought. “We don’t have anything like that right now, but it would be perfect. What do you think Robbie?” cool grey met warm grey and Sport could only sit quietly and watch the two.  
  
“It would work. I’ll finish his hair. Go get changed, I need to make sure it’s perfect,” Robbie shoved the handful of pink and black fabric into Glanni’s hands. With the older dancer moving away the younger sibling turned to the blond hair in front of him. Leaning over him and grabbing products from the makeup table he scowled, “This is mine. That thieving little…” He sighed, putting two products into his palm, “I need you take out the clips for me, alright Sportakook?” Sport nodded, pulling the clips from his hair. Now that it was straight it was falling slightly into his eyes. The wet sound of Robbie’s hands beside his ear made him shiver slightly, it sounded very obscene. Those dexterous fingers worked the products into his hair, meticulously. There was strength behind those fingers, it was almost soothing as the gunk was massaged into his hair, and he almost wanted to doze off. A comb ran through his hair, pulling it back, smoothing it out. Robbie looked at Sport in the mirror, leaving a few strands tastefully loose in the front. Once the tall man seemed proud of his work he stepped back, “There, try not to touch it while it dries yes?”  
  
Sportacus could only smile at Robbie, nodding his understanding. He stood from the chair and stretched softly, he was glad it was over he was beginning to feel restless. "Well don't we look stylish?" long arms hooked over his shoulders, breath skimming the back of his neck. "Good work little brother," he could feel the smile of the other dancer against his ear.  
  
"I can't see you while you're pressed up against him like that," Robbie crossed his arms in frustration. The weight pressed against his back was removed, and Glanni moved into their shared vision. Sport's eyes were immediately drawn to Glanni's legs, covered with fishnet stockings. They seemed impossibly long even without a pair of heels to make them seem longer. A tight black thong connected to the stockings with garter belts, they had little rhinestones embedded into them. A pastel pink open vest left very little of his upper body covered, but the black suit jacket over top would cover more when buttoned up. The last piece was a sheer, sparkling pastel pink scarf. It hung loose around his neck, the ends brushing his thighs.  
  
Sportacus whistled lowly, he was still fairly new so he'd never seen the outfit before. It was stunning; his brother hadn't exaggerated when he said Robbie Rotten's work was top notch. "I still need my shoes and you're whistling. Into taller men are we?" the sly grin on the elder man was punctuated with a hand resting on his arm.   
  
Sport froze, no matter how he responded Robbie would _see_. What does he do? Before he can even try and work his way out of this mess the man himself speaks up, “You said he was new, of course he’s going to whistle. It’s one of your best costumes. That you had best not rip again.”   
  
With a huff the dancer began rooting through his things presumably looking for his shoes. Sport looked towards the tailor, “It doesn’t look like there was ever anything wrong with it. You’re amazing!”  
  
Robbie spluttered slightly, “I… Wha... No.” The taller man’s cheeks pinked slightly under his gaze. The older dancer chuckled under his breath before standing upright. Robbie managed to collect himself before sighing again, “You even managed to ruin the shoes…”  
  
Sportacus looked in the direction of the other dancer and struggled to see what exactly Robbie was talking about. “A little bit of contact cement will fix them up in a jiffy,” to Sport the shoes looked intact, they were the same pale pink as his scarf and vest.  
  
“There are absolutely no rhinestones on them. How did you even manage this travesty?” the tailor ran a hand down his face in frustration.  
  
“I told you. I danced,” Glanni replied smoothly.  
  
“Just give me the shoes you incorrigible nightmare.”

* * *

The lights were dim, everyone quiet, as if the collective audience was all holding their breath. The sound of heels clicking on the floor was soft, almost lost in the tense air. When the music and lights flared to life Glanni was kneeling in front of the pole, his back to the audience. With a roll of his shoulder part of the jacket slipped, a flash of pink and pale flesh peeking out before the jacket was popped back into place. Then he leaned back, the scarf anchored around the pole so he could roll his body back almost to the floor before pulling himself back to his starting position. His right leg popped up to the side giving him the ability to gently rock his hips into the air. Now people were whistling, cat calling, but everyone’s eyes were glued to Glanni.  
  
During the two seconds Sportacus looked away and back Glanni was now on his feet, hands pulling tightly on the scarf as he ground his backside into the pole. Gracefully pulling away from the pole he pulled the scarf around his neck and ran his hands down his chest as he rocked his hips to the music. Dropping the jacket and turning back to the pole he grabbed it and spun around it, feet in the air. Sport understood now why Robbie said the shoes had been ruined, now with all the little rhinestones they caught and diffracted the light, causing you to watch his legs more closely. Sliding down the pole one hand slid up under his pink vest and the other grabbed the front of his thong, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he rocked his hand up into himself. Glanni was the picture of sensuality, the other night was wild and untamed, but this, this was like the man couldn’t keep his hands off himself. He was hard pressed to say his pulse wasn’t racing a little, but it wasn’t Glanni he was imagining, no it was Robbie.  
  
Sport had to turn and walk away, he couldn’t finish watching Glanni’s routine. He had to clear his head; maybe some push-ups would do the trick. Finding himself in the back he quickly dropped to one hand and started with one-hand push-ups. “What on earth are you doing?” he froze, Robbie’s voice just above his head.  
  
“Probably thinking. Little brother does this to focus his thoughts, or distract from them judging from the one-handed position he’s in,” his brother’s voice was also right there.   
  
“I was just doing my regular exercises. Nothing wrong with that, yes?” with one strong push he was up and standing in front of his brother and the tailor.  
  
“I suppose not. It’s distracting though,” the taller man huffed and examined his nails.  
  
“I told you we could discuss this in the office.”  
  
“I’d rather watch Sportakook do push ups then watch that woman drool over you,” the disgust in Robbie’s voice caused some bells to go off in Sport’s head.  
  
“Well I’ve spoken to her before, she just doesn’t listen very well,” Íþró rubbed the back of his neck.  
  
“Clearly, well. I hope you have all the papers for me to fill out tomorrow. Then we’ll have to discuss which dancers you want me to see first, which ones will give me problems other than the Pink Menace. Until then,” Robbie walked towards the back door with a wave.  
  
“Does this mean?” he looked to his brother with confused eyes.  
  
“Yes little one. He’s going to be doing our costuming. I managed to convince him,” Íþróttaálfurinn flashed him a smug grin. “Pick your jaw up off the floor,” he clapped his shoulder.  
  
“How?” he was incredulous.  
  
“A secret little one. One I will not soon share.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I hope you enjoyed this, I know I enjoyed writing it. Let me know how you think I did! Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 3.5: Secret's out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Íþró and Robbie were up to while Glanni and Sport were away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this isn't really chapter 4, it's like a little half chapter. I wasn't sure if I should include it, but here it is.

You know what’s worse than stabbing yourself with a needle several times while the very attractive man stares at you? Gluing rhinestones onto your brothers pink pumps with contact cement and tweezers, that is infinitely worse. Robbie scowled, of course his brother would be all over the younger one as well, it was no secret that Glanni was interested in Íþróttaálfurinn.  
  
“Robbie,” speak of the devil and he shall arrive.  
  
“Busy,” he glared at the shoe in his hand.  
  
A soft chuckle, “He picked them all off after one of his regular customers switched sides.”  
  
“Unsurprising on both accounts. Since he only has eyes for one person,” Robbie’s eyes slipped towards the older man.  
  
“We’re not talking about that Robbie,” Íþró’s voice was hard.  
  
“Yes, yes,” he rolled his eyes, “I know.” Honestly Íþróttaálfurinn and Glanni were acting like children, Glanni trying to get a rise out of Íþró by hanging all over Sportacus and Íþróttaálfurinn giving him the cold shoulder for something he did ages ago.   
  
“Anyways Robbie,” he could hear the man shifting behind him, “I’d like to extend the offer as our costumer again.”  
  
Robbie unfolded himself from his seat, “Look, I get it. He only looks good in what I make him because he has the confidence of a god. That doesn’t mean your other dancers will look half as good. Glanni needs these.”  
  
Turning and walking towards where his brother was last he walked past a woman wearing an atrocious shade of pink. The woman sauntered towards the direction he came from and he gagged slightly. “Ah, baby brother!” Glanni sighed and hooked his arms over the other man’s shoulders. “These look good as new. How do you do it?” his brother pressed a small kiss to his hairline before sweeping the shoes up into his own grip.  
  
Robbie gagged at the sign of affection, “Hard work Glanni. Ever hear of it?”  
  
“Of course I have. But why work hard when you can get other people to do the work for you?” his brother shrugged before slipping the shoes on.  
  
“I will be as lazy as possible just like you, but good fashion is anything but a breeze,” Robbie rolled his eyes at his brother.  
  
“True enough baby brother. Well I must be off to the stage. I have to show Sportadork how to work up an audience,” Glanni flashed a knowingly sly smile.  
  
“He’s going to be watching?” he was shocked, wasn’t Sportacus a dancer?  
  
“He’s still so new that he still has to learn from the other dancers. Both male and female,” Glanni began to walk away his heels clicking on the floor quietly.  
  
“Íþróttaálfurinn…” a high whiny voice pierced his ears.  
  
“Enough Solla,” Íþró sounded livid.  
  
Robbie turned in the direction of the voices and saw the pink woman, Solla, was clinging to the athletic man’s arm. Yeah, that was most certainly bile in the back of his throat. “Just one time, please?” her voice was awful, didn’t strippers also have to at least sound attractive too?  
  
“No. Excuse me. I must discuss something with Mr. Rotten here,” his shoulders were squared as he tried to get out of the woman’s grip. “Would you like to go to my office Mr. Rotten?”  
  
“No. There’s something I wanted to show you in the back pertaining to our discussion,” Robbie motioned towards where the male dancers got dressed.  
  
“Of course,” Íþróttaálfurinn physically removed the woman from his person. Both men retreated away from the woman to the safety of the men-only section.  
  
“Is she always like that?” Robbie rolled his eyes.  
  
“Unfortunately. Turning her down multiple times for dinner is becoming a chore,” he sighed.  
  
“Get yourself someone then. Shouldn’t be too hard, you could quite literally have your pick of just about anyone,” he shrugged.  
  
“You know I won’t. Speaking of getting someone for yourself, Sport huh?” a soft punch to his arm.  
  
“Absolutely not. One muscle-headed moron is all I need to deal with on a regular basis,” with a huff he crossed his arms.  
  
“So would you rather someone else get in his personal space for fittings?” he struggled to ignore the hot flash of jealously that shot through him.  
  
“What are you aiming at?” he narrowed his eyes at the other man.  
  
“Well you’d have an excuse to see him with little to no clothing on. Alone,” the older man’s smile was absolutely villainous.  
  
“You won’t breathe a word of this to him will you?” Robbie glared at the other man.  
  
“Not a word,” and again if you speak of the devil he will arrive, Sportacus was there, clearly not focused on anything and suddenly was doing one-arm press-ups. “Come in for paperwork tomorrow?” he could hear the soft glee in the man’s voice as Robbie struggled to pull his eyes away.  
  
“Fine,” the taller man moved to stand over Sport and question him to try and calm the racing of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know if you liked this, if so there'll probably be plenty more as the story progresses. Also, what's this? More hints to possible past Glanni/Íþró? Who knows? Stay tuned lovelies.


	5. Practice and the Crew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry about the wait on this. I'm just a jumble of frayed ends right now. But I'm hoping I can try and update regularly. I love you all and I hope you enjoy this!

_I can't make it. Paperwork and such. Keep Glæpur in line yes?_  
  
_Alright?_  
  
Sportacus looked at his phone in confusion, his brother promised he wouldn't skip this ‘practice’. Yet somehow as soon as Glanni had confirmed his presence the man just inexplicably couldn't make it. Looking back at his phone he sighed.  
  
_You owe me though._  
  
With that final message out of the way he entered the dance studio. All the women seemed to be there already, some of them stretching still, others already moving fluidly around the pole. Quickly stepping into the men's change room he listened to see if the man of the hour was there yet. His phone chimed softly, another message from his brother.  
  
“Wow, even you have a phone I suppose,” Glanni stepped out from behind a row of lockers, the man was wearing what looked like compression shorts and a fairly loose oversized shirt. Yet something about the way the man spoke stopped him, he looked at Glanni again.  
  
“Of course I have a phone, did you want to exchange numbers?” he offered a soft smile to the taller man.  
  
Glanni tapped his chin in thought, “Only if you can get me pictures of your brother,” it sounded like he was talking around something in his mouth, but not really.  
  
“Of course I can, he won't be happy with either of us if he finds out,” Sport laughed and held his phone out to the taller man.  
  
The older dancer took his phone in hand and quickly added his name and number into the contacts. “There, promise you won't spam me with dumb texts alright?” Glanni ran a hand through his cropped hair and smiled with a small laugh of his own. Sport’s phone hit the ground with a clatter, shock running through his system, “Whoa, be careful there tiger, these things can be expensive to replace.” The taller man scooped the phone up and held it out to him.  
  
“When…” he swallowed thickly, “when did you get that piercing?”  
  
“Hm? Oh you mean my tongue piercing? Back in high school, why?” a single eyebrow arched upwards.  
  
“I just never noticed it, that's all,” he quickly pocketed his phone moving further into the room.  
  
“Like the message from Íþró you still haven't answered?” the taller man hovered a short distance away looking at himself in the mirror.  
  
_Whatever it is I will do._  
  
_Good. Did you know Glanni has a tongue piercing? The one specifically for male pleasure._  
  
His phone was deathly silent. His brother refused to talk to him about Glanni at all. Unless it was vague cryptic warnings to stay away from him. Opening the nearest locker he shoved his phone and bag in it before peeling his coat and shirt off stuffing them haphazardly into the locker as well. “I usually wear a clear spacer while I'm working. If I didn't I wouldn't make as much money off women as I do,” Sport jumped slightly and looked over his shoulder at the man lounging on the bench behind him. Glanni’s eyes skimmed over all the exposed skin before turning away, “If you don't hurry up you won't get to see the women working the poles.”  
  
The athletic man turned back to his things tugging his shirt and shorts out of his bag. The sound of a door closing at the far end of the room and the silence that followed echoed loudly in his ears. Clearly the other stripper was interested in men, had he been flirting with him? Glanni did touch him in an overly familiar way, always in his space. Although it's not always an indication that someone is interested, besides he would often press himself up against Íþró to try and get a rise out of him. Perhaps Glanni was someone who communicates better with his body than with words.  
  
Quickly pulling on the change of clothes he locked the locker, as soon as the lock clicked shut the muffled sound of a text notification went off. He softly cursed under his breath, he had no time to waste. Heading to the door in the back of the room he opened it walking from tile floor to hardwood flooring. The high ceiling caused the soft thrum of music to sound louder and quieter at the same time. The women not on the poles were using folding chairs. It mostly involved grinding against it or sliding and shimmying sensually to the music as if there was someone in the chair.  
  
Glanni was stretching off to the side with a couple of other men. Sportacus moved over to them, their soft voices not carrying like the music was. Once closer to the group a long arm wrapped around his shoulders, “Everyone, the new guy! He's Íþró’s _litli bróðir_ ,” the Icelandic rolled off the man’s tongue like he'd never stopped speaking it, “we'll have to make sure to put him through his paces, yes?” Ah, this is why Íþró said to keep him in line.  
  
“Hello, I'm Sportacus, nice to meet you all,” he offered his kindest smile and held his hand out to the green haired male.  
  
The man with the green hair looked at the other man who had shoulder length dirty blond hair. They shrugged after a moment and the man took his offered hand, “Goggi.” The handshake was firm and Goggi just nodded at him. Sport turned and held his hand out to the other male.  
  
“Yo dahwg, handshakes aren't my jam,” the blond pushed the offered hand away and held out his fist instead. Sport gently knocked his knuckles against the other man's, “‘M Jives dude.”  
  
Glanni ran a hand through his short cropped hair, “The one with the short pink hair is Solla, the one with the red hair is Halla, the honey brown hair; Trixie and finally the one with the medium length pink hair is Stephanie-” the name was cut off as Goggi elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “Sorry I mean Stéffi. I forgot that's what her stage name was, so sue me,” he shoved the green haired man sharply.  
  
Sportacus’ gaze shifted to the women, both women with the pink hair were shimmying up the poles, Solla taking a moment to just sit up at the top while Stéffi rotated around in a slow circle before gracefully shifting down the pole. Sport wasn’t quite up to speed on how to dance the poles but to him it looked like a full body workout he could get behind. The lap dances and stripping were where he was at currently.  
  
Shaking his head he noticed the women walking past them to the change rooms, he waved at them shyly and they either laughed at him or waved back, but the one Trixie, she gently grasped his shoulder and whispered to him in a soft accent he couldn’t place, “Good luck.” With that the women were gone, both Jives and Goggi were wiping down the poles for their use.  
  
“Alright, come along, lets show you how to dance. I’ve seen you stripping, it’s like watching a virgin during his first time. You think you’re smooth but you are not,” Glanni patted one of the folding chairs and moving the other in front of it but facing the side.  
  
Sport took a seat but his eyes were drawn to the poles. Jives and Goggi were just rotating around the base of the pole, occasionally dropping into a pose. Sliding back up or just picking up and starting up. “Posing and recovering from the poses are the hardest parts. You have to be able to control your body very well,” the deep soft voice rumbled into his ear. It caused a soft flush to travel down Sport’s neck. Glanni sauntered over to the other chair, and even just that, without the makeup and without the glitter and glam his eyes were drawn to the lithe man. He had charisma to spare and it was astounding.  
  
Starting with his back to Sport he waited for the next song to come on. With the first few beats sounded out he grabbed the back of the chair, arching his back in and running his hand through his messy hair, lip captured in his teeth. Shifting his weight he swung his leg so he could easily straddle the chair, placing his other hand wide on the back of the seat, leaning back before pressing back in. Shifting the entirety of his weight forward he rotated his hips to the music, a hand gently grabbing his neck before it was dragged down and splayed on his chest. Even as he rotated his hips in time to the music, switching back and forth from circular motions to gentle rocking, the hand slipped further down his chest before riding back up under the shirt and the taller man’s head tilted back. Everything about Glanni’s movements were natural, but they also showed a sense of selfishness, everything he was doing was for him. That the chair or person he was dancing on was on there for him to use for himself. It was a different dynamic that he wasn’t sure would work, but if Glanni was the most sought after dancer then it clearly worked for him.  
  
As the song came to an end and the next song came on Sport watched attentively as the older dancer spoke about how to move, to be aware of space constraints, where to hold the chair. Not to let the clientele touch, that it was against the law and the house rules. To practice taking of his clothes at home. All in all he absorbed quite a bit of information in the hour long practice session. Even though he didn’t get to dance, he did get to watch, ask questions, converse about different dance routines.   
  
In the change room the men dispersed to change and head out and when Sport finally remembered to check his phone in the hallway he nearly dropped his phone again.  
  
_As awkward as that type of piercing is, I do commend those who can use it well._


	6. Lunch Time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for some reason this chapter wouldn't come out until I started writing it from Robbie's perspective... so here you are. Take it. Enjoy it.

Now Robbie wasn't unaware of how Glanni was or acted around others. In fact if how he was treating his phone and the few sparse messages he received in the wee hours of the morning were any indication he had gotten one of the athletic brothers numbers from the strip club. Although with a little bit of soft questioning towards their shared boss was any indication his brother had the younger man’s number. Attempting to squash the hot flash of jealousy down, he fired a couple of quick texts to Íþróttaálfurinn, perhaps he knew what was going on between their brothers.

A shrill scream echoed through the small flat he shared with the stripper. Immediately he was out of the chair in the lounge and was sprinting towards his brother. Blowing through the door gasping for air and flushed, he brought his gaze to his elder brother. The man was also gasping for air, fanning himself like a teenage girl with a celebrity crush. A quick glance revealed the culprit, his phone on the edge of his bed on a pile of mismatched clothing. Snatching up the offending device he quickly dodged Glanni’s hands, “Hands off!”

“You're disturbing the peace in the house. How else am I supposed to come up with costume ideas for  _ Íþróttaálfurinn _ ,” Robbie purposely dragged the name out to try and get a rise from his brother. Using the quick distraction his gaze shifted to the phone screen. His jaw dropped, there was the older athletic male he just mentioned. Soaking wet, shirtless, and a smile so bright it could power a city.

While Robbie was distracted by the image now burned into his eyes the phone was snatched out of his hand. Glistening muscles were all his brain could conjure at the very moment. “You tell him and I will snatch up whoever you attempt to bring home next,” the dancer hissed.

Slowly shaking himself out of it, “Not dressed like that you won't. Honestly I only let you out of the house on your own because you can't dress up for anything.” His own gray eyes darting over the hot pink shirt and day glow green short-shorts. That comment earned him a growl and a pillow pitched at his face.

“Sportadork said his brother extended an offer to lunch for us,” the way the comment was presented made his spine and shoulders stiffen. He couldn't know, could he? “I told him I would be happy to have lunch with him, that you might not be able to make it.”

“Your obsession with the elder brother is turning you into a creep.”

“Shut up. You coming or not?”

“Yes, but I'm not picking your outfit. You'll have to impress them all on your own. I also don't think Íþró will appreciate you trying to use his brother to get to him,” this time the alarm clock his brother used was hurled at his head, quickly he side stepped the impromptu weapon. Ducking out of the room with a laugh at Glanni expense was satisfying.

* * *

 

Not helping Glanni pick an outfit was probably a crime, the man was walking around like he was king of the second hand clothing stores. Leopard print pants with a shiny metallic rainbow shirt with a white blazer thrown over top. He also chose the largest straw sun hat with a pale yellow ribbon wrapped around it. Robbie at least tried to look presentable, dark washed jeans with a maroon button down, a simple gray sweater pulled over top the button down. Dressed up while also dressed down, acceptable.   
  
The sight of the two athletic men in full sunlight was almost jarring. Both wore fitted jeans, Sportacus in a lighter wash than his brother, and both wore t-shirts. Where Sport’s was a darker blue to contrast the lighter jeans, Íþróttaálfurinn wore a simple black shirt. Glanni and Robbie overdressed, how embarrassing!   
  
The younger of the two males brightened visibly when he noticed the two taller men approaching, “Robbie! Glanni! I’m so glad you could make it!” Íþróttaálfurinn just nodded at them before turning towards the small restaurant they met up outside of. “Don’t mind him. He’s sour after this morning's clean up,” Sportacus’ smile was a mile wide, his eyes sparkling with merriment.   
  
“Uhm. Alright?” Robbie was taken aback by the attention of the attractive man in his space.   
  
“Sportadork…” his brother whined draping himself over the shorter man, “I’m tired…”   
  
Robbie ground his back teeth together, his brother was such a drama llama, and infuriating. Like get your arms off the younger one if you’re gunning for the older one. Moments later stepping from the bright light to the low light caused him to squint and blink, his eyes taking too long to adjust. A hand on his elbow nearly caused him to jump out of his skin, the warmth seeping through both layers of clothing. “Check your phone,” the deeper voice of the older man rumbled through him. Following Íþró and the hostess to their place. A cozy little booth, the older brother shooed him over and sat beside him, Sport across from him, Glanni beside Sport. After ordering a cola he decided to see what was on his phone. The lock screen told him the time, had a notification for an unread message, a voicemail from a week ago, and 36 unread emails. Quickly unlocking the screen he pulled open the message and wished he hadn’t. Sportacus wasn’t the only one who got a picture of his damp brother. Messy sandy blond hair curled and damp with droplets of water, a mess of freckles sprinkled over his face and shoulders, the simple athletic tank wet and beginning to become see-through. Somehow even with all that, the smile is what took his breath away, even without being there he could hear the laugh, see the way the sun glinted off the drops in his hair. A soft elbow in his side caused him to flush with embarrassment, he was openly gawking at his phone.   
  
“We were asking what you were thinking of getting,” he could hear the amusement laced in that voice, his new boss was the devil. Glanni’s normal antics aside, this man could be the legitimate king of the underworld. Turning his head to smile tersely at the man beside him, his eyes caught a slight movement. His eyes dipped down to see his brother’s foot planted right between Íþró’s thighs, resting on the bench. Honestly he wasn’t sure what his face looked like other than scandalized, his head whipping to look at the wall and try to school his features back into something presentable.   
  
“I was thinking of getting the… where are you going?” Sport’s voice went from eager to confused.   
  
“I realized I have somewhere I needed to be,” Glanni ran his finger nails across his blazer, buffing the clear gloss to a shine. “Things to do and people to see, you know?” his drawl was an act, fake and syrupy.   
  
“I just got a message, business,” Íþróttaálfurinn’s response was too short to be a lie, but also didn’t seem truthful. Thinking back to what Glanni said he got a sinking feeling in his stomach. “You two have fun, remember, I want him back in one piece,” was this the shovel talk? So out in the open, in a public venue?   
  
Sportacus was the one to respond though, “It’s just lunch. No harm no foul right?”   
  
Was that throb because his heart hurt, or because his new boss is leaving him to drown? “Have fun you two,” he could only mutter softly. Watching the two older men leave made his heart feel like it was shriveling up and dying. Maybe if he waited long enough it’d die before he embarrassed himself painfully.   
  
Bright blue eyes zeroed in on him, “So what is it you do when you’re not making costumes for your brother?”    
  
Was that his heart stopping? Would this handsome creature with the adorable freckles give him mouth to mouth if that happened? Rein it in Rotten, don’t let your mind run away with you, answer the question. “I work as a mechanical technician. It’s not very interesting,” open mouth, insert foot, choke to death.   
  
“Not at all! It sounds very interesting. I was just a personal trainer before I moved here, but what you do sounds interesting, tell me about it,” that soft warm smile, the stupid pointy mustache. Why’d he have to be perfect?   
  
They spoke softly after they placed their orders. It made him feel warm and fuzzy, excited to get to know this man, even if it was pointless. They spoke about the machines Robbie worked with, the people Sport used to work with. Costumes and fabrics, how the hum of his sewing machine kept him company while he was experiencing insomniac episodes. How the fresh early morning air is the best time to jog, but with a later schedule the late afternoon will just have to do.   
  
“You know, you don’t have to work at your brother’s club. I’m sure you could work as a bouncer at another club, maybe even a bartender,” his fork clinked against the plate as he set it down.   
  
“I know, but I like working for him. He’s a good manager, after talking with some of the other workers I found out he schedules around their needs. That if he doesn’t have enough dancers he only opens one part of the building,” the man smiled fondly down at his empty plate. “It’s nice to know that he cares about his staff. I don’t think I would trade that for anything. Plus all the clientele respect our boundaries. Or lack of them in your brother’s case.”   
  
His heart clenched painfully, moment of truth, “What do you think of him? Glanni I mean.”   
  
The short silence echoed in his headspace, this was it, he was going to say he was attracted to his brother and his heart would be crushed and he would just go home, curl up on his recliner, eat a pint of ice cream, call his new boss and quit. “He’s different. It’s like a puzzle I can’t quite solve. I’ve learned a lot from him. I just wish he and my brother would talk about their problems though. I’m tired of being lost in a conversation with them. It’s frustrating,” a soft frown graced his features.   
  
Yeah, no, that was his heart stopping then turning into some kind of gas. That’s why his chest felt like it was swelling right? He misheard right? “Glanni and Íþróttaálfurinn used to be a thing. I don’t know how serious it was, but there was a huge falling out because my brother probably did something dumb. I mean, he tried to poison a town in the name of science at one point in our lives. I’m assuming my brother messed up,” he rubbed the back of his neck, both Glanni and Íþró would have talked to Sport about it if they thought it necessary and here he is just telling him everything.   
  
“I think they both messed up. I know when my brother makes mistakes he doesn’t like to talk about it, and he refuses to talk to me about Glanni other than warnings to stay away from him,” the reassuring smile that shone his way cleared the doubts in his mind, It would be okay to pine after this man a little, as long as he never finds out he can work two jobs. He doesn’t need sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So maybe I'll dedicate the next chapter to Glanni or Íþró, dunno if we're ready for that part or if I'm gonna keep skirting around it, muhahahahaha
> 
> Let me know what you think, and thanks for sticking with me!


	7. Lunch Time Take Two!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one is from Glanni's side of things, want to mention that it talks a wee bit about heartbreak in here. But hey, not everyone can be happy right?

“Did you bring what I asked for?” he nudged the shorter man once they were out of the establishment.

“Yes, I left it in my car,” Íþró cleared his throat slightly. “Next time don't ask for these types of things.”

Glanni grinned mischievously, “How else did you plan on spying on them?”

“I hadn't until you mentioned it. I figured Robbie wouldn't come unless I was there, he would have assumed that you two were having a lunch date and would have stayed at home. You needed to be invited by Sport, the invitation extended from me to him through you,” he huffed walking over to the other side of the street where an old sedan was parked.

“You're lucky I haven't changed my number than. Otherwise I would have assumed you were actually being nice to me for once,” he fluttered his eyelashes at the athletic man.

“Glæpur, we both know that is a lie. I treated you very well, but times have changed,” a muscle in Íþróttaálfurinn’s jaw tensed, clearly he was skirting the line. Opening the trunk he motioned for the taller man to come closer.

Without getting too into the other man's space he eyed the contents with a wicked grin, “Let's slip this on and go watch, shall we?”

* * *

 

There was honestly something just so freeing about skirts, especially the short ones. Also with these cute kitten heels his legs looked amazing. Glanni wouldn't be shocked if men and women checked him out. He already had mildly androgynous features, but with his make-up on point, his short skirt and blouse that scooped low in the back he was sure to turn a few heads. Adjusting the new smaller sun hat and stepping out of the back of the club Íþróttaálfurinn had driven them to he spotted his boss back behind the wheel. He had a paper jockey hat, a plaid button down, unfortunately he couldn't see his pants so he wouldn't be able to see if they matched.

He slid back into the passenger seat of the car, “For all we know they're gone by now.” A long exasperated sigh escaped the shorter of the two, “Why?”

“Well I asked you to pick up this shirt for me and I thought it matched with this cute skirt I found with all my things!” he exclaimed with glee. Seeing the stoic man anything other than mildly annoyed was a joy. 

“Only you,” the tone held something he desperately wanted to call fondness. Anything to bring out the warmth buried deep in his heart that he refused to show him anymore.

He shook it off, he could focus on himself and the other man another time, right now it was all about his baby brother.

The ride was deathly silent, not even the radio to keep them company, just the soft hum of the engine. Íþró did something Glanni would have never expected, he parked right in front of the restaurant they left their brothers in. He once told him that if you're going to hide do it in plain sight, but the man took it far too literally. The door beside him swung open and a hand was in his space for him to take. Ah, so they were to pretend to be a couple, that would be fine. Quickly unbuckling from the vehicle and grasping the hand offered to him he slid into the other man's space, “I know it'll be hard to play along but it's only in front of others.” The only reply was a soft grunt and the door closing behind him.

Luckily for them their brothers were still just sitting in the booth, both slowly eating and talking quietly. He could only see Sportacus, but the boy looked happy and eager to talk to Robbie, although his brother was probably too dim to see it. After gently asking to be sat close to the younger pair of gentlemen the hostess only snickered at them, clearly she had recognized the matching mustache she had seated earlier, since she had originally seated four and that seat only had two. She sat them at an adjacent booth, where if they sat side by side they could see Sport still. But that's what they did, with the taller sitting on the inside of the booth and the shorter on the outside. 

As their meal progressed, they had ordered small quick items, a salad and a slice of some decadent chocolate cake, the silence began to feel less tense. Like they were on a date, but it was okay to be silent. A soft smile graced his features, clearly he was imagining things. A large calloused hand cupped his cheek, drawing their faces together. This was far too vivid to be a hallucination. Then the voices registered, the others were moving and getting ready to leave. Glanni had been too absorbed in his own head to notice, shame flushed through his features. The shorter man pulled him down closer, brushing his lips against the side of his mouth. He could feel his heart melting, there was the man he knew under that hard crust, soft, sweet, impossibly kind. Glanni turned his head to catch Íþróttaálfurinn’s lips with his own, his own heart breaking slowly. His own hand fisted in the shoulder of the plaid shirt, their kisses soft, quick and heartbreaking.

Once their brothers had passed they separated from each other slightly. That warm hand still cupped his cheek, his hand was still fisted in the fabric by his shoulder. “I'm sorry, they would have recognized me right away if I hadn't done that,” the voice was deeper, slightly rough around the edges, it made his spine tingle.

“Of course, besides who would think twice about looking at a couple kissing? No one,” his voice came out smaller and softer than he intended. The hand on his face tensing slightly before pulling away, gently prying the closed fist open, and sliding out of the booth. He understood that he had been left to his own devices to pull himself together. That his meal was being paid for, that his heartbreak was written clear as day all over his face. Cradling his head with both hands he took some deep breaths. It was okay, it was fine. It wasn't like he had been dying for that kind of affection from the other man for ages. It wasn't like the man had treated that first press of lips against his any differently than the first time they had kissed. No. He wasn't going down that rabbit hole, not now anyways.

Approaching the front of the building he spotted the athletic males looking lost in his own head as well. We can't have that happening so he wrapped his arm around the muscled arm of the other and smiled, “Thank you for paying,” there was the fake syrupy voice he needed.

Like clockwork the other man's face closed up, like a bank vault sealing. It hurt, but they were here to spy on their brothers, nothing more.

They followed the two men slowly, keeping them within eye distance but never getting close enough to hear their conversation. Once the streets began looking familiar enough he laughed, hard, “What's so funny?”

“Robbie…” he wiped the tears building in the corner of his eyes from laughing so hard, “he took the long way home. He's normally so lazy, oh man, what a riot.”

“Do you want to go back to the car to get your things? Or should I leave them with your things at work?” the small and slightly concerned tone didn't escape Glanni at all. His boss could be too nice.

“Leave them with my costumes and such, doesn't matter too much to me,” he removed himself from the shorter man and motioned for him to go away.

“Thanks for helping me Glanni,” the warm genuine smile shot his way could start wars, anyone would fight for that smile. Turning to go, “Also you looked good today.” With that final comment he was off like a shot, jogging and flipping away like a crazed lunatic.

Slowly Glanni dragged himself back into the flat, his mind circling his boss and what had happened most recently. “Whoa, you look like you could use some ice cream. Did your date not like how you dressed? You look so put together though. You don't need someone like that in your life Glanni,” his younger brother's rambling was a blessing, but it only made him feel his heartbreak more.

Big fat tears rolled down his face, and long arms embraced him. He cried, he cried because the man he loved was so sweet, so kind. Accepted who he was, his quirks, oddities and ticks. He cried because he had ruined it all long ago and the longer he put off talking to him about it, the smaller his chances of even being friends were. They stayed there wrapped up in long limbs until the emotion and tears petered off. Until Glanni was sure he could tell Robbie that the guy he had lunch with was some jerk, even though Glanni wasn't sure if he had rambled to his brother through that emotional outburst. If he had he would just say he was remembering the good days, and that it had made this failure much clearer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So they kissed, Glanni is all heartbroken about it. Wonder if anything will change now. Who knows. I've also been entertaining the idea of maybe writing out the story between Glanni and Íþró once more of the pieces are revealed. Who knows. we'll see how this goes for now


	8. Office Space

That day after lunch his brother seemed moodier than usual, like he had been dealing with Solla and Glanni. That wasn't possible though, he had to leave on a business call, he really only came back to their apartment to change and eat before he had to be back at the club.  


Glanni looked like a train wreck, his eyes swollen and puffy, red rimmed and dark even without makeup. Robbie was there as well, talking to Glanni in hushed tones before they both nodded to each other and the younger brother moved away.  
  
Sportacus wanted to go to Glanni, try to make him feel better. Not knowing what was wrong prevented him from doing much else other than greet the older stripper who hummed in response. “Glanni, I don't really know what's going on, but maybe you should stay home?” he rested his hand gently on the back of the chair Glanni was slouching in. Again only a hum as a response. Looking over the man's shoulder he noticed the stem of a flower in the man's hand. A single purple hyacinth rolled gently between slim fingers. Sport tried to recall what the flower meant, but he was definitely drawing a blank on this one.  
  
“‘I am sorry’, ‘Please forgive me’, sorrow,” the taller man muttered morosely.  
  
Sport had to take a physical step back, how did Glanni know such a thing? The language of flowers was hard to learn, let alone pull the answer from the top of his head from. “How?” he couldn't even finish verbalizing the thought.  
  
“I put one into a bouquet once, kinda funny how things come around full circle,” although humor was spoken of there was none held in the tone of voice.  
  
“Do you think the sender knew the meaning?” he crouched by the taller man, trying to peer up into those cool grey eyes, see if he could tell what the man was thinking.  
  
“Of course they did, because they're just as stupid as I am,” finally tearing his eyes away from the bloom in his fingers he glared daggers at the shorter man.  
  
A gentle hand on his shoulder made him jump, Glanni’s vicious gaze melting back into melancholy. “At least the jerk who was rude to you this afternoon tried to apologize,” Robbie’s voice was soft, but mildly hard around the edges. Somehow he figured what he knew and what Robbie spoke of didn't quite line up. “I'm working with you today, he'll be alright, I promise,” warm grey eyes filled with concern for his brother implored him to get moving.  
  
“If you need me, I'm a quick text away alright?” standing he placed a gentle hand on the other dancer’s shoulder. A soft nod from the quiet man was almost missed as he was tugged away from the depressed man. His heart hurt just from seeing the other man looking so down in the dumps. They’d only known each other for a month, but he liked to think that they were friends now. As his friend he wanted to find out just how to help him. Looking to the young tailor he cleared his throat, “Do you know what happened to Glanni? He was alright at lunch.”  
  
Robbie pulled him into a small disused office, the small space haphazardly transformed into a small space for the tailor to use. A small desk shoved into the corner, covered in sketches, and messy, loopy handwriting scattered over the top of it. The chair in the other corner, balanced against the wall with a heap of fabric wedged between the seat and the back. A small raised platform was in the centre of the room, Robbie motioned for him to stand on it. “He went out for lunch. I’m not sure what happened. He was dressed wonderfully, albeit out of the norm, but this is Glanni. If someone can’t accept him wearing a skirt they can drive off a cliff,” the tailor’s face scrunched up with mild disgust.  
  
Standing on the small raised platform he raised a brow, “He wore a skirt?”  
  
“Look my brother is odd. It’s part of his charm. Legs shoulder width apart,” Sport looked down at his feet as he shifted them apart. A flimsy measuring tape was wrapped around his thigh. Of course he’d never seen a tailor’s measuring tape, it was fascinating. Robbie scribbled illegible number and short hand on a scrap piece of fabric of all things. The taller man opened his mouth before snapping it shut and chewing on his bottom lip. He shook his head and continued to measure different parts of his legs. After the measure was pressed into his inseam, the man decided to speak again, “He cried. He spoke of your brother, how he messed up. That he still loved him. I didn’t ask him about it, I didn’t want him to melt down, or close up on me.”  
  
“I think, maybe they should try to talk,” he spoke softly, he didn’t want to speak too loudly, lest either man would somehow know what he was talking about.  
  
“Shirt off, these pants are tight enough, the shirt is not. Off with it,” Robbie stepped out of his personal space. Tugging the hem of his shirt up over his head he tossed it over towards the door, “Show off,” the other’s cheeks were slightly pink. After another shake of his head and worrying his bottom lip ensued as the measure was wrapped around his waist. Long fingers brushed across his skin delicately, skimming the edge of the measure, the warmth imparted by the man’s finger tips raised gooseflesh in their wake. Unable to look away from the other man as he worked, his soft melodic voice almost startled him, “I think they should talk. Neither are being very truthful about their feelings I think. If Íþróttaálfurinn could just shut down my brother completely, if that’s what he wants, maybe they could both move on. As it stands whatever emotions they hold towards each other are just festering, and I don’t think that’s a good idea.”  
  
The tape was pulled around his chest, tight over his pectorals, “I think Íþró has a soft spot for Glanni. If he didn’t he wouldn’t have asked me to invite both of you to lunch.” The taller man snorted slightly, he wasn’t too sure why. Although he was sad that Glanni’s date didn’t go well, he was thankful that he was able to spend alone time with the tailor. “Íþró has also been in a foul mood. I think it’s because Glanni told him about the jerk he went on a date with.” Sport could see his brother getting the tall dancer a single flower with the single meaning ‘I am sorry’, his brother was a caring type of man after all.  
  
“I doubt it. He talks to you far too much,” his tongue clicked quietly.  
  
“I just send him cute cat pictures honestly,” he couldn’t admit that he sent pictures of his brother to Glanni, Robbie would think less of him.  
  
He got a single brow raised at him, “Is that what he was squealing about and making a ruckus for first thing in the morning?”  
  
Swallowing sharply, “That I’m not so sure of.” Not very convincing of a liar and knowing it means the less words out of his mouth the more realistic it would be right?  
  
“Well maybe I’ll give you my number in case you ever want to do lunch again,” the taller man froze the measure loose around his neck.  
  
Large shocked grey eyes stared at him, a flush painting his cheeks a beautiful scarlet. All he could do was smile softly and resist the urge to cup that strong jaw, “I would love to do lunch again. I enjoyed my time with you.”  
  
The blush crept all the way up to the man’s ears, “P-perfect.”  
  
That bottom lip disappeared between his teeth, without thinking his hand came up and did cup that strong jaw. His thumb smoothing over the other man’s soft bottom lip, “You’ll chew right through it if you keep that up.”  
  
They both froze, but they didn’t move away from each other. Time ground to a halt, his heartbeat thundering in his ears, breath echoing harshly in the small space between them. The sound of something connecting with the wall outside of the small office caused them to break apart. Sportacus quickly retrieved his shirt and pulled it back on and was out the office before he could look at Robbie.  
  
Pressing his back against the now closed door he let all the air rush out of his lungs. Movement out of the corner of his eye made his head turn towards the retreating back of his brother. Something on the floor caught his eye, a flower, it’s soft pink petals mildly crushed, probably by his brother on accident. Picking the stem up off the floor he called after his brother, “ _Hvaða blóm er þetta?_ ”  
  
His brother stalked back over to him and took the flower from his grasp, “Camellia.” Turning on his heel, his brother held the bloom to his chest gently, as if he was carrying someone’s fragile feelings in his large hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hvaða blóm er þetta?” - What bloom is this?
> 
> Pink Camellia - 'longing'
> 
> So I told myself I wouldn't end up using the language of flowers. But I am. And instead of making you poor souls google things I'll just leave this here for you. I love you guys.


	9. The Apartment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright everybody, strap on in for a wild ride in the background!

**_Honestly he wasn't sure what the fuss was about this campus. Sure it was nice enough, but not enough to be raved about by his previous teachers and family. Also being slightly late enrolling was a touch of a problem, not like he needed a welcoming committee or anything. Maps work well enough. Glancing at the number tag attached to his keys he glanced at the corridor hall. At least he was headed in the right direction. Finally getting to room 210 he adjusted his shoulder bag, honestly he would be fine if he never had to see his mysterious roommate ever. Opening the door he was shocked to see a very attractive man doing one arm push-ups right in the middle of the floor. The light of the sun glinted of sweat slick skin. His bag hit the floor. His roommate was smoking hot, oh no..._**  

* * *

Sportacus blinked, there was a folded piece of paper jammed under his door. Brushing some sweat from his brow, he unlocked his door and scooped up the paper. Íþróttaálfurinn’s neat handwriting was scrawled on the paper. Telling him to take his phone with him on runs and a note to call or text Robbie, the man's number printed on the page.  
  
Grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl in his small kitchenette, he moved to settle on his couch. The phone sat on the small coffee table, the charge cable wrapped around the leg of the table and plugged into the wall as close to the couch as possible so he wouldn't trip on it. Unplugging the device and unlocking the screen he looked at the messages from his brother. Some were about his work schedule, asking if he could come in four nights a week to help cover a gap from Jives needing some time off. Another was information about the costumes, when he could come in to try it on. Then there was the wall of text saying Robbie wanted to meet up for lunch to talk about the second costume, his number, and unbeknownst to his brother, an address he didn't need.  
  
Quickly adding the information into his phone he decided he would text the man. Not wanting to impose if something came up or something.  
  
Hey my brother told me you were trying to get a hold of me?  
  
He resisted putting in any silly emoticons. Only moments after his phone screen switched to the receiving call screen. Sliding his thumb to accept it he brought the device to his ear, “Hello?”  
  
“It's about time. What took you so long?” the slightly distorted voice made his heart flutter. The taller man had avoided him since the incident in his small work space.  
  
He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks and he cleared his throat, “I was out for my run. I didn't have my phone with me so Íþró stuck your number under my door.”  
  
A slight indignant squawk, “You don't live together?”  
  
Had his brother not told him? Why hadn't Glanni said anything either? “He owns the apartment complex we live in.”  
  
“I'm sorry? I don't think I heard you-”  
  
“He owns the apartment buildings. Some of the other dancers live here at a discounted rate,” he knew it was rude to cut the other man off but he had to tell him.  
  
“So instead of paying full price for our flat, Glanni could have gotten us an in with your brother? Wait, is that why he can run the bar five days instead of seven?”  
  
“Well we don't have the staff to support the bar yet, but I'm sure when he does he’ll have it open all week long,” he didn't want to tell him that when he said buildings it wasn't just his accent. His brother was a bit of a business man but maybe he would wait to tell Robbie that.  
  
“That explains why Glanni lays around the house on Mondays and Tuesdays. He has nothing better to do,” he sounded thoughtful. “That's not why I called. Did you want to meet up to get something to eat? I wanted to ask you about the second costume. The first one is already done. I was going to get you to try it on tonight if you had a moment.”  
  
“I would love to,” he tried not to sound too excited, it was a work meet-up after all.  
  
“Perfect, I'll text you the address in a bit. I have to finish up my shift. Bye,” he didn't even have a chance to respond before Robbie had hung up.  
  
Leaning against the back of his couch he took a few bites of his apple. It made some sense that Glanni and Íþró didn't live in the same vicinity as each other. He wouldn't have to sneak pictures of his brother all the time. Yet Glanni and Robbie lived in a flat in a pretty decent part of town. Did Glanni maybe work a second job? Or had he been working for Íþróttaálfurinn since the man had opened his bar?  
  
A soft knock on his door shook him out of his thoughts. Quickly hopping the back of his couch he opened his door without even checking the hall first. His brother stood there, a flower in his hand, “Can you do me a favor?”  
  
“Of course, come in,” Sportacus ushered his older brother into his apartment.  
  
“I need you to give this to Glanni,” he held the small flower out to him.  
  
“Sure but, why?” he gently took the bloom from his brother. Looking at the pink flower carefully he placed it as a geranium. He was fairly sure that the purple hyacinth from the other day had been from Íþró, so the pink camellia must have been from Glanni.  
  
“I can’t go over there. Robbie might get the wrong idea. He still might if you just give Glanni the flower. I just didn’t want to wait,” his brother had begun pacing while he was fretting.  
  
“Easy, I can say I saw it off to the side, the wind blew it off the step. Easy enough. Slakaðu á eldri bróður, it’ll be fine.”   
  
“You’re right. Of course. Anyways, the Busybody’s sink is acting up. I’m going to go take a look,” his brother quickly nodded and headed out of his apartment at a fast pace.  
  
His phone vibrated against the table where he had left it. Placing the flower on the table he looked at his phone. He could just leave it be, not look up what the flower means. Not meddle with his brother’s personal life, or what little he had from working all the time. Grabbing his phone he unlocked the screen, instead of checking the message he received, he opened up the browser. Typing in ‘pink geranium flower meaning’ gave quite a few web sites. Finally he found one that had useful information, “‘Folly or Stupidity’, ‘Gentility’, ‘Melancholy’,” searching through a handful of other sites also brought up similar meanings. He still couldn’t make heads or tails of the information though. Quickly going back to his messages he opened the new message from Robbie, it had a restaurant address he assumed, since it didn’t match the home address he entered earlier.  
  
He had to think on his feet. He needed to be able to go to their flat to get Glanni the geranium.  
  
_Hey can I come pick you up at your place? I still have trouble finding my way around the city. I’ll drive us?_ __  
  
_Sure, I guess. That works. Be here in like 45. Gotta get ready. TTFN_  
  
Perfect, he could get the flower to Glanni now. For now he should put it in some water to keep it fresh. 

* * *

**_A nice simple run around the campus was nice in the morning, also a great warm up for the simple exercises he could physically do in his dorm room. Being a second year means he knew all the ins and outs of the campus layout. Although depending on his new roommate he would have to change his running schedule, don’t want to disturb the poor fellow. Using the towel around his shoulders to wipe the sweat from his brow he unlocked the dorm room door. Still no roommate. Deciding against using the door frame for pull-ups, he didn’t want to scare off the new guy by being in the door showing off, he quickly settled in the floor to begin doing a few reps of crunches. After that were the one-armed press-ups, after the second hold the lock clicked open quietly, a bag hitting the floor in the corner of his vision. Pushing himself clean up off the floor in a feat of pure strength he mentally kicked himself, showing off was bad. “I’m Íþróttaálfurinn, you can call me Íþró if it’s too hard to pronounce. You must be Glanni right? Welcome!” The lanky, mildly handsome man only stared at him slack jawed. Perhaps he should have saved his routine for later._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright as I'm sure you've figured out, we're getting an inkling of the GlannÍþró backstory.
> 
> I do hope you guys enjoyed this!
> 
> Since I forgot to add this:  
> Slakaðu á eldri bróður - Relax elder brother


	10. The Flat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another so soon? Welp, when you don't have a beta reader you make your own schedule and my muse is whispering in my ears. They also sound oddly like Glanni and Robbie a good chunk of the time lol

**_Despite the fact that his roommate seemed to get up at the crack of dawn, it never bothered him. His late night studies also never seemed to bother the athletic man either. Even though lately he would spend a little too long admiring the muscled man's sleeping form. The guy was always moving around, running before class, sports after class, and he heard the guy would do push-ups in the library if it didn't bother anyone. To see him relaxed, sprawled out on his bed with a book open on his chest was something special, something only he got to see. At this point he was fairly sure the guy was single, Glanni had memorized the guys schedule, he was only ever at class, the gym, or the library. All his other time was spent in the dorm room, if Glanni was looking particularly grumpy, Íþró would just have his run and sit quietly on his bed and read. Moments like this though, he would take to appreciate the man, dark lashes fluttering, probably dreaming about sports, soft sandy-brown hair curled in every direction possible, his broad chest rising softly with each breath. He had it bad for this one._ ** **_  
_ ** ****

* * *

Sportacus knocked on the door tentatively, although he had planned the whole flower thing out, he still felt like the whole thing could go south. He heard soft cursing through the door, a bit of a stumble, and the door unlocked. Robbie opened the door, his appearance was slightly disheveled, crisp button up half untucked, his belt was undone, as were his slacks. What really caught his eye was his hair, normally so carefully put together, was mussed. Black curls escaped from the pompadour and rested against the taller man’s face, “Am I early?”   
  
Robbie shook his head, “No I had to fight with Glanni for the shower. Come in I guess. I’ll have to change since I appear overdressed compared to you.” The taller man stepped aside to let him in. Once the door was shut behind him Robbie noticed the flower, “Where on earth did you get that?”   
  
Sport flinched, he totally forgot about the flower because he was too busy staring at the other man, wondering what it would be like to muss up that hair himself, have the man pressed flush against him. Shaking off the rising blush he held out the pink geranium, “I found it next to your stoop, I think it might be for Glanni?” He gently shrugged his shoulders, “It would make sense with the whole hyacinth he received the other day?” he made sure to sound unsure, it would hopefully sell the story better.   
  
Doubt flit across the other man’s features, it was gone so fast Sportacus wasn’t sure he had actually seen it, “His room is the one down the hall, the door is closed, he might be sleeping. Can you give it to him while I finish getting ready?”   
  
“Sure! He won’t kill me for waking him up though, right? I’ve seen him come in tired a few times and I’ve genuinely worried for my life on those occasions,” he rubbed the back of his neck.   
  
Robbie snorted, the sound was adorable, “I’m sure you’ll be fine. You look like you could lift two of him easily.”   
  
“Alright if you think I’ll be fine I’ll deliver this little guy to your brother,” he lifted the flower up slightly. He followed Robbie through the small flat, Robbie entered a bedroom on the one side, what little he could see of the room before the door was shut was neat, the only thing looking out of place was a pair of grease stained pants right by the door. Like he had rushed to get out of them. Right across from Robbie’s room was a bathroom, the light still on from when Robbie presumably went to answer the door. Every inch of counter space and porcelain was covered in some sort of beauty product. He had never seen so much makeup in one spot other than on Glanni’s dressing table at work. Moving past, he noticed a closed door and an open door at either end of the hall but there was another door at the end of the hall, it was also closed. The one across from the open door had some light seeping out from under the door, the other was dark. One must be the linen closet, but his curiosity was drawn to the open door.   
  
Sport wasn’t one for snooping, plus if Robbie hadn’t wanted him to see anything he assumed the tailor would have directed him to his brother’s room properly, or sat him in a chair somewhere. Peeking his head into the open door he was surprised by the organized chaos happening in the room. A small table with a sewing machine was shoved under the window. Along with the machine was what looked like a craft supply organizer, the little drawers labeled in scrawling hand. Beside the work station was a cubby system just jam packed with fabrics, he couldn’t tell one from the other, but it was organized by colour. There was a rolling rack beside the closet door, both filled to the brim with outfits. He didn’t want to assume, but he was certain at least half the sparkly outfits were for Íþróttaálfurinn’s dancers. It was like colours were just bursting out of the space, it was amazing and mildly overwhelming.   
  
Pulling himself to the other door he knocked on the door lightly, calling out, “Glanni?” There was a shuffling sound, something solid hit the ground and then a groan. He waited a few moments, when it seemed like the dancer wasn’t going to get the door he tried knocking again, “Glanni?”   
  
This time it sounded like the taller man hit the floor, before a shuffling sound approached the door. It opened with a soft squeak, “Sportadork? What on earth are you doing here?” the taller man rubbed at his eyes. The other man must not have washed his face before bed, his eyes dark and smudged.   
  
He held out the flower, no words spoken. The taller man gently took the bloom from his grip, long fingers brushing the stem and petals, “He is stupid, isn’t he?”   
  
Sport wasn’t sure he should respond, but he chose to anyways, consequences be damned, “I personally think you’re both being foolish.”   
  
That brought a sleepy laugh from the older dancers lips, “You can say that again. Thanks.” When the dancer moved away from the door, it swung open showing the absolute disaster the other’s room was. His eyes were drawn to the bottle of vodka, half empty in the floor of the room, that must have been the thump he had heard earlier. Then he noticed the glass on a table next to the man’s bed, the geranium being placed in the water next to the hyacinth that was already starting to look a little wilted.   
  
He wanted to ask about the pink camellia his brother received, instead, “Are you going to send him another flower as well?”   
  
“Of course.”   
  
“He punched the wall after the last one you gave him,” he could only give him a half smile.   
  
“Of course he did. I would have if I was him,” Glanni shrugged half-heartedly. “You had best go wait in the lounge, or Robbie might get the wrong idea. It has an obnoxious orange recliner. You can’t miss it.”   
  
Sport could only nod, leaving the soft, melancholy atmosphere of the other dancer’s room. Moving down the hall he passed by Robbie’s room again, the door slightly ajar, the bathroom door firmly shut. Hopefully Robbie won’t have gotten the wrong idea from him talking to Glanni. He didn’t want to shoot himself in the foot by trying to help the two older brothers.   


* * *

**_Usually the tall man was asleep when he went for his morning run, sometimes the other would be awake by the time he came back. If he wasn’t he would work out as quietly as possible, Considering he wasn’t doing anything intensive in the dorm that wasn’t too hard. This morning he was distracted by the man’s features. Normally the taller man was always frowning or scowling, but when he slept it was like all the stress and anger of the day melted off him. The serene look made him appear younger. He wished that he could help the taller man, but he wasn’t sure how. Glanni mostly kept to himself. Occasionally if he had fallen asleep reading, his book would have a bookmark and be closed beside his pillow, instead of sprawled on the floor like he used to find it. The other had gone to bed last night without cleaning his makeup off, the blush and eye shadow smeared against the pillow. He must have been up most of the night studying, maybe he would extend his run a little further and maybe pick up a coffee for the other. He tried to tell himself the concern he felt was just because they were roommates, not because he was captivating and slowly consuming his thoughts._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sport is right, they're both being foolish! As always I hope you enjoyed!


	11. Only for Work?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooo! Another update! 
> 
> Seriously though I'm on fire, what even?

**_After a couple of early morning coffees he felt far more comfortable talking to the athletic man. Even if he did turn up his nose at the amount of sugar Glanni poured into the cup. ‘Coffee-flavoured syrup’ the man had called it in his thick Icelandic accent. Glanni had just shrugged and took a sip of the elixir of life. At one point he had been in the library getting some reference books for his course work when he heard the first whisperings, soft voices hushed talking of his roommate. Saying the only reason the guy was single was because he was in an arranged marriage, that it was too bad because he was such a beefcake. He couldn’t argue with that, Íþróttaálfurinn was like a bronze god. A couple days later he heard whisperings of Íþró being engaged to a childhood sweetheart, this time something ugly in his heart twisted. Rumors were usually partially based in fact, and the recurring point was that the athlete was in a relationship. He couldn’t help himself, he was attracted to him. The man was sweet, bringing him coffee, offering to take things to and from the library for him. He also had a smile that made his pulse flutter. Finding the athlete at this time of day should be easy, he was in the lecture hall. Waiting outside was fraying his nerves. He clicked his heeled boots against the tile impatiently. As soon as the shorter man exited the hall he reached out to grab the back of his shirt. Not even caring about the people around he asked about Íþró’s fiancée. The shorter man just stared at him, before uttering: “What are you talking about? I’m single.”_ ** **_  
_ ** ****

* * *

The lounge was occupied by a couch, an entertainment system, and like Glanni had said, an orange recliner. Although the orange fur was mildly unexpected it didn’t shock him. He didn’t know a whole lot about sewing, but he was sure that making a cover for the chair couldn’t be too hard. He sat on the couch, looking around the otherwise barren room. Eventually Robbie entered the lounge, and he scrambled to stand up. The tall man only had a hint of purple around his eyes, and every loose hair that had escaped earlier was brushed back into place. “Ready?” he smiled up at the taller man. He got a raised eyebrow for his troubles, and Robbie motioned to his complete outfit, maroon skinny jeans and a royal purple button down. He could only laugh lightly and motion for the taller to go ahead.    
  
Once they were out in the late afternoon sun, the door locked behind them, Robbie spoke up, “What were you and Glanni talking about?”   
  
Raising a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, “I got distracted by your sewing room for part of it. Sorry, I know I shouldn’t have been looking around without permission. After that I was telling Glanni if he wanted to talk about what was going on, that we would both be willing to help. That if it was a customer harassing him I could tell my brother so he could deal with it.”   
  
A thoughtful look crossed the tailor’s face, “You saw my sewing room? It’s such a mess right now since I’ve been bringing fabric to the bar.”   
  
“Not as messy as Glanni’s room,” with that statement they both laughed, and the sound of the taller man’s laugh made his heart soar into his throat.   
  
“You’re right about that.” He blinked several times, a mild look of confusion crossed his features, “This is what you drive?”   
  
Sportacus nodded and unlocked the small compact car, “I don’t drive often and this car is designed for city travel in mind.” He opened up the passenger side door and adjusted the seat. “There, that should give you some leg room.”   
  
“This vehicle only has two seats, this is insanity,” the tall man ducked into the vehicle.   
  
“It’s compact, what else would you want from it?” he laughed lightly sliding into his own seat.   
  
“A car with the regular amount of seats. How do you even use this for grocery shopping?” the length of legs almost touched the glove compartment, maybe he would adjust the seat back a little more after lunch.   
  
“Well I usually just walk too and from the store. Unless I need to go across the city,” he started up the car.   
  
“Glanni and I usually have to take a taxi to and from. You would think maybe one of us would learn to drive, but no,” Robbie clicked his tongue quietly.   
  
After he pulled away from the curb and listened to Robbie’s soft directions. It was pleasant, just the two of them in the car, wrapped in the sound of each other's voices. Mostly Robbie voice as he directed them to a small café.   
  
After circling the block once to find a space to park, they both stretched their limbs when they got out of the car. “That was the most flawless parallel parking I’ve ever seen in my life,” the taller man shot him a lopsided grin.   
  
“Do you see people parking often?” he raised a single brow.   
  
“One of the shows I watch from my brother is about the worst drivers in Canada. It terrifies me to think they let those types of people on the street.”   
  
Holding the door to the café open for the tailor he just nodded, “I’ll take your word for it.”   
  
After they were seated Sport took a moment to look around the small café. It had bistro style offerings chalked onto the two signs he could see. A small menu was slid across the table to him, “So I wanted to ask you about your outfits. I figured one out for when you’re not on stage. The other one escapes me.”   
  
Right. This was a business meal, as much as he just wanted to talk to the attractive man sitting across from him it was about work. “Well I don’t spend a lot of time on stage, the guys have said my strong suit is removing articles of clothing, not dancing. I've been told I have two left feet,” he chuckled quietly.   
  
Robbie tapped a slender finger on his lip a few times before he held his own chin between his thumb and index finger. Letting the man think he looked at the menu, tea sounded nice, they had a decent selection of teas and herbal blends to choose from. They also had a few staple sandwiches and soups on the printed menu. Things they offered all the time, not daily. His eyes shifted up to look at the chalkboards again and he startled when he caught those warm grey eyes staring intently at him. Feeling the heat race up his neck and face fueled the fire under his skin even more. “How do we feel about feats of strength?” the tailor’s voice was soft, thoughtful.   
  
He blinked his blue eyes several times, “Sorry?”   
  
“Like ripping off a shirt, or pair of pants? The shirt might be easier to engineer…” that long finger went back to tapping on his lip.   
  
Sportacus could only stare at the tailor, clearly the man was planning an elaborate article of clothing that could be ‘torn’ away from the body. “I don’t mind I suppose. I would just have to make sure I don’t damage anything by accident,” he rubbed the back of his neck, the last thing he wanted was to ruin the tailors hard work.   
  
The waiter came over to take their orders down. As soon as the man was out of earshot, the tailor turned to Sport with a grin, “How do you feel about full body leather?”   


* * *

**_After the strange confrontation in front of the lecture hall he tried to pay a little more attention to his roommate. Maybe he hadn’t been eating enough, or sleeping enough. Perhaps it was just the stress of school finally catching up with him. Even after a couple days of strong scrutiny he couldn’t see anything wrong with the tall man. Finally he just tried asking him about it. The answer he received floored him, Glanni had heard rumors about him being engaged or a part of an arranged marriage. He wasn’t sure why people thought that. The tall man stated bluntly that it was because he was ‘attractive, people as good-looking as you are rarely single’. He then questioned why it mattered to Glanni, the tall man immediately got defensive. Finally he admitted that he was worried that something so big was being hidden between them. Íþró left it at that. A few days later he thought he heard some of his classmates talking about Glanni. He was to ask them what they were talking about when they started speculating whether stripping or prostitution earned more money. He could feel his blood going cold in his veins. Was this how Glanni felt when he had heard the rumors? This festering dark feeling in his heart and blood? Going back to the dorm, his last class be damned, he found the tall man hunched over a book. He asked if Glanni had been working a part-time job while also attending classes. “Well yeah, not all of us got in on crazy sports scholarships. I bartend and dance at a couple of the clubs on the weekends,” the odd matter-of-fact tone of voice made his heart drop. Why had he kept that from him? “It’s just a job, it pays enough for me to be able to do it part time and focus on school, relax. I’m not whoring myself out.”_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Sport just wants to go on a date with you Robbie. Get a clue my dears.
> 
> Also the history continues


	12. A Flower by Any Other Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite the name it's not a Shakespeare reference, I promise. You'll see though!

**_In hindsight, maybe he shouldn’t have been on Íþróttaálfurinn’s bed. Actually, maybe he just shouldn't have been thinking about Íþró while touching himself. He had been doing so well, usually being in the shower for a quick jerk, and no more. Yet since Íþró had been watching him more, he became more aware of the other man’s presence. How large and warm his hands were when placed on his shoulder, the deep rumble of his sleep weary voice, the warmth of his smile and laugh. Of course he would want to feel those hands on his body, caressing, touching, holding him down chasing his own pleasure. He wanted to hear a different timbre to that voice, one that would make him shiver with anticipation, whispering and murmuring praises into his skin. A breathy sigh escaped him, just thinking of the other man that way made him achingly hard. Laying on the bed that wasn’t his, surrounding himself in a musk that faintly smelled of sunshine and sweat, was driving him crazy. When the lock on their door clicked open he couldn’t bring himself to care. Blue eyes locked onto his body, his bag hit the floor forgotten as he scrambled to shut the door. His roommate leaned heavily against the wood, his breath hitching at the sight of him. Not bothering to remove his fingers from himself, he unclenched his one hand from the bedspread and motioned for the other to come closer, “You going to help me or are you just going to enjoy the show?”_ ** **_  
_ **

* * *

The lunch went well in terms of the food, as for the business part, that was still up for debate. He also learned that Robbie wanted to make sure the outfit he had made during a period of pure exhaustion fueled inspiration fit properly. That meant he would be partially disrobed in front of the tailor. Just thinking of it made him blush.  
  
After he had dropped of the tall man with a quick farewell, he went to pull away from the curb when a rainbow attacked his windshield. The rainbow was actually Glanni in several jarring shades of pink, green, and orange. He tapped on the glass of his windshield until Sportacus finally rolled down his window. “Take this to Íþró,” he dropped a daffodil onto the passenger seat.  
  
“Could you have not given it at the bar?” Sport was flabbergasted, his accent slurring his English slightly.  
  
“Yes, but I want to see how he interprets it and responds,” Glanni was mildly breathless, like he had run a mile and not fifteen feet at most to the car. After silence and the puzzled look on Sport's face Glanni relented, “It has two sets of very different meanings since one is based around its genus, the other around its common name. But, that's all you're getting from me Sportanosy.”  
  
Sport could only smile and nod, the dancer was right. He was being fairly nosy, but he wanted to know what was going on. He couldn't help it just like their brothers seemed to try and get them alone every chance they could get. Of course he didn't mind, the tailor often took up most of his mind space while he was on his runs.  
  
Actually managing to pull away from the curb with no other assaults on his vehicle he started the quick drive back to the apartment complex. Once he was parked he sent a text to his brother just to make sure he was in the building or if Glanni’s plan was doomed from the beginning.  
  
He gently picked the flower off his seat, when he thought of daffodils he thought yellow, not this burnt yellow, sunset coloured flower with purple tinged tips. His phone chimed, the notification stating that Íþró was doing some landscaping in front of the other building. Exiting the car and locking up he jogged to the other building, the smell of fresh turf filling his senses. He could hear the sound of girlish laughter as he approached the edge of the structure. Turning the corner he saw his brother leaning on a shovel, his pants and work gloves covered in dirt and bits of grass, of course he wasn't wearing a shirt, since he insisted that wearing one while working made him too warm. The woman, Solla, was wearing a pair of jean cut-offs that he thought were a touch too short and a light pink sweater. She laughed again at something his brother had said and she gently pushed his exposed arm playfully.  
  
Striding over to them with a purpose he wasn't sure he should be walking with he held out the flower. “They wanted to return the favor for the bloom you sent them,” he smiled politely at the other woman who just scowled at him.  
  
“You've sent someone flowers?” she turned her gaze back to Íþróttaálfurinn.  
  
His brother bit the side of his lip before sighing sharply, “I've tried to tell you befo-”  
  
“That you have feelings for someone else. I have a sinking suspicion that it's that lying whore Glanni. I know about your blow out. I'm surprised you employ him,” she crossed her arms across her chest.  
  
“I don't mean to overstep, but jealousy doesn't look good on you Solla,” Sport gently held his hands up to show no harm.  
  
She turned on him, fury blazing in her brown gaze, “Like you can talk, staring at Rotten with hearts in your eyes and letting Glanni hang off you.”  
  
Íþróttaálfurinn placed a hand on her shoulder, his fingers digging past the sweater into her shoulder, “Enough Solla.” The fury died out almost as fast as it had ignited, replaced with heartbreak. “No one deserves to be berated like that, whether they're here or not. Direct your scathing words at me, and me alone,” she refused to turn into his grip, just hanging her head.  
  
They all stayed like that, a Tableau of sorrow, hurt and disappointment. Eventually the silence was broken by soft sniffles and her hands furiously swiping at her eyes, “I hope you two sort your problems out. Sportacus, I'm sorry for how I behaved, I wish for nothing but your happiness.”  
  
Gently resting a hand on her other shoulder, “I wish for nothing but your happiness, and I'm sure it's just around the corner. Waiting for you to find it.” Gently squeezing her shoulder he let her go, Íþró following suit.   
  
The woman just nodded at them both before turning and heading into the building they stood in front of. “In the time you were out and about, the man got a flower in response to mine?” his brother turned to him with a small, melancholy smile on his face.   
  
“Glanni pretty much threw himself on my car to make sure it got to you. Do you want to tell me what it means, why he risked bodily injury for a small flower?”   
  
“Well, it has two separate meanings. The genus of the flower is called Narcissus, it means egotism, formality, it can say ‘Stay as sweet as you are’. The flower itself is the Daffodil, although the colouration is much more unique than one would expect of it; It means unrequited love, regard, it can say, ‘You’re the only one’. However, I will leave you to decide what you think he meant by giving me this bloom, I already know how I am going to respond. If I want to get it before work, I shall have to go to the florist now,” he clapped Sport roughly on the shoulder. “Glanni is right, you are fairly nosey. Think of this time as thanks for your help, don’t always think the meanings will just fall into your lap.”   
  
With a laugh his brother wrapped an arm around his neck and ruffled his hair affectionately, “Come, why don’t we both get flowers?” Sportacus could only blush and try to refuse as his brother tried to carry him off in his pace.

* * *

**_It wasn’t every day a class got cancelled, maybe he would go see if Glanni needed help with anything. Lately he had been watching the other man, he said he only danced and tended the bar, but he couldn’t help but worry. What if a customer got a little too hands, was the security at those places up to speed on those situations? One night he even stayed up waiting for him to get back, watching the slow movement of the clock progressing ever forward. He had stumbled into the room on shaking legs, immediately he had gotten up to help the other, gently supporting him around his waist. The stench of alcohol rolled off him in waves, no wonder he was struggling to stand in those heels. Sitting him down on his bed he grabbed him a bottle of water and helped him to drink it. Glanni muttered something about him being too nice, to leave him out of something, and some incoherent statement about gods. At the time Íþró only shook his head and helped the other settle into bed. Coming up to their room he didn’t even think twice about opening the door without knocking. There had yet to be privacy issues between them. The sight that greeted him was not one he would soon forget. All of Glanni’s pale skin was on display, his chest heaving slightly, one hand clutched into his bed sheets, the other was fingering himself open. He scrambled to shut the door, but couldn’t tear his eyes away. Glanni wasn’t on his own bed, no, he was on his. One finger motioned for him to come closer, the offer filling the air between them. Stepping closer he felt his voice catch slightly, “How can I help?”_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that the genus of the daffodil is narcissus? During all my research I somehow never figured it out until I googled images of the flowers. Whoops hahaha. Bet you weren't expecting that little bit of history! But this is Glanni we're talking about. What else were you expecting?
> 
> Also sorry about the delay, I'm helping a pal out with their fangame. I did like 4 hours of game testing after work and it sucks the life out of you.
> 
> Hopefully they next one comes out smoother.
> 
> Here is an image of the daffodil:  
> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/cb/5d/c8/cb5dc84e40693d22124a7f878facaea8.jpg


	13. It's Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo, we're back! Enjoy!

**_It wasn’t like he was trying to avoid Íþróttaálfurinn, he just wasn’t sure how he felt about him. The man had been incredibly gentle with him, despite the muscles, despite the larger hands. He had never once in his life with either sex felt so revered, like he was to be cherished. It made his heart clench painfully, that despite the fact they had sex, not once had Íþró kissed him. Did he only help him out from the kindness of his heart? If so it was still fairly heartless. Then again, he had full on been avoiding athlete, sleeping in 24-hour coffee shops, the on campus library, and the occasional bench. On weekends, some of the bars would let him sleep in the back room. Some of the girls would let him crash on their couches, depended on if they were nice enough. He only returned to the dorm room to change and get his books for classes. At some point their room no longer smelled of sunshine, slowly their room felt colorless. Slowly Glanni felt his heart dying, not being able to hear Íþró laugh, not seeing that smile, his accented voice softly asking about classes, if he was alright. The lump in his throat was almost impossible to swallow around. Unlocking the door, he smelt a different scent than what was normally in their room. Opening the door wide he searched Íþró’s side of the room first, nothing was out of place, nothing was new. Than where was the smell coming from? A single red tulip lay on his bedspread, a small note with the meaning attached. ‘Believe me; a declaration of love.’_ ** **_  
_ ** ****

* * *

Sportacus cradled the small lavender coloured rose in his hands. Unsure that he would be brave enough to give the flower to the tailor, his brother only clapped him on the shoulder and told him it would be fine. That picking such a cute flower was so very him.   
  
He had stared at the selection of roses, the lavender ones drawing his gaze back to them every so often. Looking at the small hand-written sign he came to realize how his brother and Glanni had been able to exchange flowers so easily. In tiny print the signs had the common name, the scientific name, where they were grown and common meanings for the flower itself. The only thing on the sign that had caught his eye was the meaning ‘Enchantment’. Nothing could be truer. He had been enchanted by the tailor from the moment he first saw him. It also helped that the bloom was in a shade of purple, although not as dark, it was still the tailor’s preferred colour.   
  
His brother held a single bunch of hydrangeas, he had to insist to the florist that he wasn’t planning on poisoning anyone with them. Sport learned that some of the prettiest flowers were the most dangerous.    
  
Going through the back door his legs got tangled up in a very small something. “Yo Ziggy, come back here,” Jives voice called from deeper in the building.   
  
Looking down into the soft round face of a child, Sport could only smile, “Hello there, what’s your name? My name is Sportacus!”   
  
Large blue eyes widened, “M-m-my name is Ziggy!”   
  
Crouching down to be on the same level as the child, Íþró moved past them and into the building. “Why were you running away Ziggy?    
  
“There was this big scary guy, and he growled at me, and it was scary,” the young boy rubbed at his eyes, a few tears escaping from the corners of his eyes.   
  
Glanni. “Well why don’t we go back inside? I’m sure you scared him just as much as he scared you,” he gently rubbed the child’s small back.   
  
Ziggy bobbed his head slightly, blonde hair shifting slightly. Standing up he held his free hand out for the boy to take. “Are you giving the flower to someone Sportacus? My dad says single roses mean ‘I love you’,” the small child tugged on his hand slightly as they walked.   
  
First his mind stopped, then it jump started into panic mode. Of course Íþróttaálfurinn insisted that he only needed the one flower, of course the man knew what it meant. All he could do was chuckle tensely, “Yes, it is for someone, but you can’t tell anyone alright Ziggy? It’ll be our little secret.”   
  
The young blonde nodded, humming slightly under his breath. Jives came sliding around the corner, eyes wild with worry. As soon as they saw each other, Ziggy ran towards Jives, and Jives melted down to hold the boy, his worry dissipating into nothing, “Don’t do that to me little man! My heart can’t handle it.”   
  
“Dad, dad, dad! I met this guy! His name is Sp-Sp-Sportacus! Like a hero name! And he’s got this super pretty purple rose! He’s going to give it to someone he looooves,” as soon as the words left the small child’s lips, he covered his mouth. “Uh-oh.”   
  
Jives only laughed and hoisted the boy up, “That so little man? Well why don’t we go take Sport’s secret back to our colouring books? Let the man go give the flower like he planned.” JIves winked at Sportacus before adjusting the grip on the child and moving away.   
  
Letting out a world-weary sigh, he hung his head. If he gave the flower to Robbie, Glanni would probably point it out and throw him under the bus. It’d be best to just own up to it. Squaring his shoulders he strolled further into the building, Glanni had placed the small bulb of flowers he had received high up on his dressing mirror.   
  
Seeing the small flower in Sport’s hand, Glanni rolled his eyes, “Of course. He gets a declaration of admiration and I get one that points out my heartlessness and frigidity.”   
  
Sport stopped a moment at looked over at Glanni, “Excuse me?”   
  
“Don’t worry about it, you weren’t supposed to hear me. Go on. Shoo. Go ask him out or something equally sickeningly sweet,” Glanni clicked his tongue in distaste and waved the shorter dancer away.   
  
Pulling on the neck of his shirt he approached the office door that was currently being used by Robbie. Knocking on the door he waited, listening to the sounds of shuffling behind the door. “Ah, finally, Sportakook. You made it,” the taller man stood from his slightly stooped position and opened the door for Sportacus to enter.   
  
Entering the room he cleared his throat as the door closed behind him. Not turning towards the tailor, lest his nerves get ahead of him, “Robbie, I was wondering, if, maybe, sometime, youwouldwanttogooutonadatewithmesometime?” Nope his nerves swallowed that whole.   
  
The tailor stood in front of him now, a single black brow arched gracefully, “Sorry, I couldn’t catch that verbal diarrhea.”   
  
Taking a deep breath through his nose and out his mouth, he held out the rose to the tailor. Robbie gently took the flower from his shaking hand, “It means ‘Enchantment’, I got it because since I first saw you, you’ve captivated my mind and heart. Robbie Rotten, would you go on a date with me?”   
  
Robbie turned the rose over in hand, his jaw slightly agape. “You. I. What?” those warm grey eyes looked at him in bewilderment.   
  
“You don’t have to answer now. I just,” he sighed slightly, “I just want to get to know you better. I want to spend more time with you. You interest me. Make me laugh.”   
  
Robbie chuckled hoarsely, “I can’t believe today went from fittings for exotic dancers outfits to this.” He wiped under his eyes gently, trying to disperse the small sparkling tears developing there. Robbie took a deep breath and smiled at him, the brightest smile he had seen yet, “Of course I’ll go on a date with you Sportakook.”   
  
Sportacus felt his heart soar out of his chest. Today was the best day ever. **_  
_ ** ****

* * *

**_After what happened with Glanni, Íþróttaálfurinn only had himself to blame. Of course the man would avoid him like the plague, even though he had treated their coupling with the utmost care he had not once had he shown his true feelings for Glanni. The silence in their room echoed around him, blaming him, mocking him for what he ruined. He knew Glanni still returned to their room, never to sleep, only to shuffle through his belongings and leave again. Slowly he no longer spent as much time in their room. He only ever returned to sleep, spending all his time at the gym, running around campus, extra classes if he could. On one of his runs he spotted those long limbs that held all the grace of a cat. Glanni was sprawled on a bench, school bag wedged under his head, sleeping. Something deep in Íþróttaálfurinn’s heart broke, he had never wanted to make Glanni feel like he couldn't return, but he also didn't know how Glanni had felt about him. He would find a way to convey his feelings, something small he could leave in their room. Turning to the library he ran, something small but very out of place would be a flower. He had research to do. By the end of that night he knew which flower to buy and had set it on Glanni’s bed, all he could do now was wait. Wait and see what Glanni would do, what he might say. See if the other man would run even further from him than he already had._ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right, I made Ziggy into Jives son!
> 
> Also I dunno what else to say. I met some cool folks on this discord, and they got a tiny behind the scenes peek at this. But that's about it.


	14. The Fitting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun Dun Dun~
> 
> Its more story time with me!
> 
> Hope you're all excited!

**_Glanni held the tulip in hand, sitting on Íþróttaálfurinn’s bed. He didn't have to sit there waiting for him. Didn't have to wait for him at all, could have hunted him down at his classes, but wanted to wait here for him. Where it started. He waited, and he waited. Starting to get mildly annoyed he threw himself down onto the bed. Wrapping himself up in sheets that barely smelt of sunshine. He dozed off after a while, the passing of time weighing on his mind. A weight disturbed the bed, broad chest pressing into his back. He scowled refusing to turn over, “You made me wait.” The other man huffed an apology into his shoulder, “You should be sorry.” Rolling over to face Íþróttaálfurinn, he frowned before punching the athlete in the arm. “I can't believe you! Making me think that you were only with me because you're a nice guy, not because you like me,” he bit his lip. The other man's eyes were glued to his mouth, watching him chew on it. The shorter man shifted and rested his head against Glanni’s, one of those large warm hands cupped his jaw. The soft press of lips against the side of his mouth was the sweetest. That if Glanni wanted to stop, he would gladly leave. He turned his head slightly to catch Íþró’s next kiss. They both melted into each other, their kisses soft and unhurried. The red tulip crushed between them._ ** **_  
_ ** ****

* * *

Now Sportacus should have really thought this through, because not only had he successfully asked Robbie out, but his brother was giving them the night off once Robbie was done with his fitting. That meant he had to strip down and put on the clothes that the tailor had made for him. I'm the same room.  
  
The same man he just asked out.  
  
He could only internally groan, what had he been thinking? Clearly nothing. Nothing was happening up in his big empty brain. He could hear Glanni’s first words ‘more muscle than brains’ and they couldn't be truer in this moment.   
  
“So unfortunately I don't have the second outfit for you to try on right now, so the first will have to do, alright?” the tall man laid out some very sparkly eye-catching pieces he couldn't figure out right at that second since he was still losing his mind over having to strip in front of this gorgeous man. As if sensing his inner turmoil, “I can turn around if you'd like, but I thought it was your job to remove clothes,” a single brow arched and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.  
  
Robbie was right, that was his job, these weren't the usual clothes he stripped in but that was okay. He could do this. Grabbing the hem of his shirt he pulled it up over his head, making sure to flex his arms a bit more. Once the fabric was up over his head he turned to undo his belt, making sure to work his shoulders and back muscles. The belt now loose, he pulled it from the loops in one smooth motion, letting it drop onto his shirt with a dull thud. Running a hand through his hair, he quickly unbuttoned his pants. No hesitation, he reminded himself. Grabbing the fabric at his thighs he tugged them down in one swift motion. Stepping out of one pant leg, than the other, he bent to put his pants on top of his shirt and belt.  
  
Turning to face Robbie with a slight blush dusting his face he smiled. Robbie was covering his face, his ears a deep shade of pink, his flush even spreading down his pale neck. “Y-you didn't have to give me a show you know!” the man managed to get out.  
  
Sport could only laugh, “But where's the fun in that?”  
  
Robbie cleared his throat and pointed to Sports choice in underwear, “I'm all for thongs, but dear lord, just black next time.” Sport could only shrug, he wasn't expecting anyone to see, so he had worn one that had blue and white stripes.  
  
“I hadn't been expecting anyone to see them today,” he rubbed the back of his neck  
  
“Yes well, here, the shorts first,” a pair of sparkling shorts were picked from the pile and thrust towards him. They were gradient shaded, from a light sky blue, to a deep navy. The sparkle that had caught his eye were simple rhinestones in wave patterns going across the fabric diagonally, a few stones wide, and a few inches apart from each other.  
  
They fit fairly well, some room in the legs, if they could be called that. The shorts were incredibly short, stopping just where his butt and legs met. Robbie’s long fingers checked the elasticity of the fabric at his hips and legs, muttering about taking in the legs a little. Grabbing a sheer white something from the pile Robbie clipped part of it in the back where his spine was. Coming around the front he pulled the thing over his shoulders, it was a sheer set of suspenders. The fabric pulling over his nipples made him shiver, but it went unnoticed by the tailor. Instead, he gently tugged the fabric this way and that, gently snapping it against one of the sensitive buds. “I need you to do some strange aerobics to see if the suspenders move at all,” grey eyes looked at what little he had on at the moment with intense scrutiny.  
  
“Like handstand press-ups?”  
  
“Sure, yeah,” with a small shrug at the dismissive words he easily rolled himself into a handstand. Adjusting his hands to shoulder length apart he began to lower his body and raise it back up. The sheer fabric hadn't moved, even after he flipped back onto his feet. “Alright, okay, this next,” a bundle of light steel blue fabric was held out. Taking it gently, he opened it to reveal a vest, not a functioning vest, but a decorative vest. Putting it on, the fabric brushed his waist, tickling his ribs slightly, and only just covered the sheer white fabric of the suspenders. It also had rhinestones on it, only on the shoulders and sides, along the seams of the fabric.  
  
Robbie stood there in thought, before he began to pace circles around the shorter man, “I can’t decide if we should go with ankle boots and sheer stockings, or if we want to have something knee or thigh-high. You can walk in heels now right?”  
  
Sportacus thought back to all the training Glanni had been giving him, “I can’t dance in them very well yet, but I’m getting there.”  
  
“Pick up a cheap pair. Wear them around your place all the time. It’ll help you get used to them faster. I’m surprised Glanni never told you that,” the tailor scowled before stopping his pacing.  
  
“I think he enjoys watching me stumble around all the time. That’s very like your brother,” he tried to muffle a chuckle in his wrist to no avail.  
  
Robbie cleared his throat, “Well as much as I enjoyed the last showing of you taking off your clothes, be far more cautious taking these off. All the seams are temporary so they could pop at any moment given enough pressure.”  
  
Sportacus nodded, “Alright, I’ll probably want your help with the vest then, I don’t want to damage your hard work.”  
  
Robbie simply scoffed and helped the short dancer out of his temporary wardrobe, luckily for them both the only seam that popped during the whole ordeal was in one of the legs, to which Robbie said he had to take it in slightly so it was no big loss. 

* * *

**_Íþróttaálfurinn had avoided their dorm all day. He didn't want to know how Glanni would respond. Honestly he was terrified, what if the tall man didn't want him? Or didn't return his affections? Anxiety squeezed his heart viciously, maybe a run would help clear his mind. When he finally got back to the dorm, the lights weren't on and no sound came from inside. Pacing the floor outside the door he worried his lip between his teeth, what if Glanni hadn't even been back yet today? Deep breaths, it's going to be okay. Unlocking the door he saw the tall man curled in his bed. Entering quietly he breathed a sigh of relief, Glanni wasn't running away. Laying on the bed behind the man tangled in his sheets, he heard the hitch of his breath, the man shifting but refusing to turn over. Glanni was upset, Íþró had made him wait, going for a run instead of coming straight back, “I'm sorry Glanni,” he murmured into the man’s shoulder. Finally he rolled to face him, his frown more pout like than he probably thought. The punch had no fire behind it, the words spilling from Glanni’s lips. He watched those lips, leaning his forehead against the taller man’s. Flicking his gaze up to the others eyes to make sure it was alright, he pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. If Glanni didn't want Íþróttaálfurinn he could still push him away. The second kiss met a pair of lips, everything was alright, they would be happy. Pulling Glanni closer to him he felt the tulip between them and he could only smile._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So next up is the boys date!
> 
> Yes there was no Glannithro in this chapter other than the flashback, but that's okay. Cause they'll have their time in the spot light soon enough.


	15. The Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohmygosh. The very lovely Sonja_ok was inspired because of my fic! [Art](https://sonja2121.tumblr.com/post/162224081688/ive-been-drawing-flowers-so-much-lately-because) there's art now! Exciting!

**_There were rumors about them now, how the tall cranky kid swept up the school sweetheart with sugar coated lies. Glanni could only laugh in their faces, he wasn’t even sure why Íþróttaálfurinn had fallen for him anyways. He was the tall cranky kid, barely even communicating with his peers in class. He wore a deep magenta sweater almost daily until the tulip incident. Now he raided Íþró’s closet, wearing the grossest shade of yellow cardigan he could find. Of course the cardigan was huge on him, but he didn’t mind, it told everyone that he was with the athlete and that was that. Let them talk the talk, they clearly couldn’t walk the walk. Occasionally the shorter man would give him flowers. He never bothered to figure out what they were, or what they meant. They would wind up behind his ear, in an empty button hole of the mustard yellow cardigan, pinned to his bag, or he would wear the crown that had been weaved for him. That was another symbol that the athlete cared for him, that the people couldn’t argue against. He felt a small amount of guilt that he never learned their meanings, but soon it faded into nothing. After all, Íþróttaálfurinn would get him more flowers, he had time to learn._ ** **_  
_ ** ****

* * *

Whilst the dancer dressed, he watched the tailor out the corner of his eye. He had taken the lavender rose, a pair of scissors and a pin. Robbie cut away some of the leaves, trimming the end of the stem to a reasonable length. Moving to a pile of fabric he shifted through it until he found a simple piece of black satin ribbon. Tying a simple bow around the stem of the rose, Robbie examined the look of it. Nodding he took the pin out from between his lips, piercing the back of the ribbon and stem, pinning it to his vest. Examining himself in a small mirror leaning against the desk he nodded. They were ready to go.   
  
Sportacus and Robbie ended up walking to his apartment. It was closer, and they could grab his car if they needed it. Also considering the fact that Robbie was wearing a mauve button down, grey vest and black slacks, Sport felt underdressed. Once they entered his apartment, he told the tailor to make himself at home. Making a quick detour to his charge cable by the coffee table he looked up to see the tall man looking around his minimalist furnishings. Stopping at his single bookshelf and browsing the titles. “I’ll just, get changed. It’ll only take a moment,” he smiled.   
  
“Alright,” his bottom lip disappeared between his teeth, like he had something more to say.   
  
“Did you want to pick a place to eat?” he moved towards his room, to sift through his closet.   
  
“Could we…” the deep voice trailed off into a mumble. The sound of something being moved reached his ears, “Could we just stay in?”   
  
The dancer turned his head quickly towards his living room, “Are you sure?”   
  
“Yeah, a home cooked meal sounds great. I’ve been living off take-out and coffee the past two weeks or so,” the tall man called back.   
  
Sportacus could only grimace, that was no way to live. Pulling out a pair of black jeans and a light blue button down from his closet, he quickly changed. Tugging on the sleeves of his shirt he rounded the corner, Robbie was sitting on his couch, one leg casually crossed over one knee. His vest was shed and resting over the back of one of his kitchenette chairs. The man must have brushed a hand through his meticulously groomed hair, some strands fell loosely onto his forehead. His phone was open in his hand, thumb occasionally swiping down on the screen.   
  
Sitting down next to the tall man he began to get nervous, what if when he made dinner it was horrible? Long fingers wrapped around his hand and squeezed lightly, “Hey,” he said softly.   
  
“Hi,” Sport echoed back.   
  
“Just relax, make something easy. I can only bake, you’re sure to impress me,” a warm smile and another soft squeeze of his hand.   
  
He could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he moved his hand to lace his fingers with longer fingers of his companion. Unsure as to how, but hardly complaining, their foreheads brush. Ever so gently their lips meet, a soft chaste kiss. Opening his eyes he gazed into warm grey eyes looking into his, “Maybe we should eat first?” his voice sounded impossibly deeper.   
  
Nodding slightly, he cleared his throat before brushing his brow against the tailor’s, “Yeah, lets.”   
  
Everything felt dream-like, wrapped up in a warm floating feeling. His lips tingled from where they had met Robbie’s. He ended up cooking completely on autopilot, two plates of pasta with the most basic tomato and meat sauce sat at his table. Two wine glasses sat next to the plates and he honestly wondered when he had even opened the bottle. The tall man was drawn by the scent of food and easily pulled up a bar chair to his kitchenette table. “This smells amazing,” the man hummed his approval.   
  
“Well let’s see how it tastes, let’s dig in,” he slid into the seat next to Robbie. They ate in silence, but it was warm and comfortable.    
  
Polishing off the last of his wine Robbie let out a sigh, “That was delicious, thank you Sportacutie.”   
  
The nickname caused him to flush, “It was super basic, if I had thought any of this out it would have been far nicer.” Sport rubbed the back of his neck, flustered.    
  
A soft kiss was pressed to his cheek, “It was good, take a compliment.”   
  
Touching the spot on his cheek his blush deepened, “Th-thank you.”   
  
Robbie took his hand and led him back to the couch, they sat thigh to thigh. “What’s next oh gracious host?”   
  
Sport thought for a moment, “Why don’t you pick out a movie from my shelf? We can watch it together.”   
  
The dark haired man nods, standing, moving towards the shelf under Sport’s television. Putting a disk into his player and turning everything on, he brought the remote back over, “You keep your remote all the way across the room? Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of it?”   
  
“I rarely use it, so it’s easier for me to find if I leave it there.”   
  
A small hum, Robbie falling onto the couch beside him, beginning to adjust the pillows on the couch. A small look of discontent crossed those beautiful features before the man stood and moved off to Sport’s bedroom. Sport blushed, moving to follow the man, there was no way they were moving that fast. Almost as soon as he entered the room, he returned, pillows and blanket underarm. Robbie set up the pillows as he see fit, and Sport couldn’t argue, he did tell the man to make himself at home.  
  
Long arms pulled him down onto the couch. Robbie’s taller frame behind him, pillows cushioning his head and the one long arm underneath them. Robbie pulled the blanket up over them, wrapping them in a cocoon of warmth almost immediately.   
  
“I hope you don’t mind. I made myself comfortable,” his breath ruffled his hair.   
  
“I don’t mind at all, this is nice,” the dancer laced their fingers together, bringing the thinner hand up to brush a kiss against the tailor’s knuckles.   
  
“It is nice,” lips brushed against the back of his head.   
  
Wrapped up in each other’s arms, a soft cocoon of warmth, they both drifted off. The sounds of the movie fading into nothing, just the soft sound of their breaths intermingling.    
  
Since both men had easily fallen asleep, both missed their respective phone screen lighting up. Robbie’s with a notification of a new message from Íþróttaálfurinn, Sport’s with a notification of a message from Glanni. Neither man stirred, until the middle of the night, when Sportacus woke. He turned off his television, the player already timing out and off, he turned the lights off. Scooping up Robbie and the blanket he moved them to his bed. He didn’t want the tall man’s limbs cramping on his couch. Curling back up with the tall man in his bed, he drifted back to sleep quickly. **_  
_ ** ****

* * *

**_Now when Íþróttaálfurinn heard rumors, he would just walk up to the offenders, a smile on his face and greet them. Most people would freeze up to his ‘Hello’, their smiles just a slight bit nervous. They were always talking badly of Glanni, saying he was rude, stuck-up, holier-than-thou. None of those things were true. Glanni was just socially awkward, it took months for him to open up to Íþró, and they shared a sleeping space. Although neither of them spoke of their relationship status, Glanni had swiped a cardigan from his half of the room. Occasionally the mustard coloured cardigan would wind up in his bed. He’d leave it there, if Glanni wanted it to smell like him, he had no reason to deny him of it. He began to bring him flowers, he spent time learning them, each with their own stories to tell. Daisies to speak of his loyal love. More red tulips, joined by the occasional yellow tulip, to tell Glanni that he saw sunshine in his smile. Crowns weaved out of dandelions to show his faithfulness, the happiness that the taller man brought him. He couldn’t be sure if his feelings were properly getting across to Glanni, but Íþróttaálfurinn had no doubts that they had time to talk about it._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They both got texts? I wonder what that's about?
> 
> Aren't they cute though? All wrapped up in adorable sweetness?


	16. What Happened in the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glanni and Íþró's past is here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cried writing this. It's twice as long as normal. That's all the warning you'll get from me

Sportacus opened his eyes slowly, the tiny sliver of sunlight stirring him from his dreams. The warm body next to him shifted and sighed. Panic lanced through his heart, they didn't do anything did they? As he slowly became more aware of his situation he sighed. He was still wearing his jeans and his button-down from the night before, and the man beside him was also still dressed. Dark eyelashes fluttered slightly, a small sigh escaping the taller man before he rolled over. Getting up slowly as to not disturb his guest, he padded out to his kitchenette. Today would be a coffee day, as he was sure his guest would want some when he got up. As the soft sounds of the coffee maker filled the quiet apartment, he went to check his phone.   
  
Unplugging his device and plugging Robbie’s in, he didn't want the tailor’s phone to die after all. Unlocking the screen he glanced at the wall of text Glanni had sent him. It said something about wanting to talk about Íþróttaálfurinn, flowers, something about school. A lot of the text was indecipherable, but worry still gripped his heart.   
  
Here he was, waking up next to someone he likes very much, and their brother needed help. Soft shuffling signaled that Robbie was now up. The man turned the corner and blindly began opening and closing cupboards. A single white mug emerged from above the coffee maker, Robbie watched the coffee slowly brew into the pot. “Good morning,” he called out to the dark haired man.   
  
The taller man jumped slightly before shooting a mildly grumpy look his way. “G’morning,” he mumbled. Long fingers ran through his hair, loosening even more dark curls from their gelled prison.   
  
Retrieving Robbie’s phone, he headed over to the taller man. Placing Robbie’s phone down in front of his mug, Sportacus reached for a mug of his own, “Milk? I know I've some honey, I'm not sure about sugar though.”   
  
“Sugar if you can find it, if not honey will do,” the tall man looked at his own phone. A frown graced his features slightly, “Did Íþró message you last night?”   
  
Stopping midway through his pantry, he shook his head, “No, Glanni did though.”   
  
“He sent Glanni home yesterday. I think Íþró wants my advice on what to do with him,” a thoughtful hum.   
  
“Glanni wants to talk to me about something, it might have to do with what happened between the two of them,” finding a small container of sugar tucked into the back corner of the pantry, he grabbed it with a small noise of excitement.   
  
“Makes sense. Their flower exchanging shenanigans need to stop, I'm tired of buying things for him while he's at work,” Robbie let out a long sigh.   
  
Sport laughed, “If it wasn't for the last trip Íþró made, it might have taken longer for me to ask you out.”   
  
Robbie hummed, pouring coffee into the two mugs. Adding a few scoops of sugar he took a sip and sighed, “We'll have to have a proper date next time. As much as I enjoy cuddling, I would love to get to know you better.”   
  
He laughed adding a bit of milk to his own mug before taking a sip, “Well I'm already glad to see that you don't drink coffee the way your brother does.”   
  
“I enjoy sugar as much as he does, but sugar should only be used to enhance the flavor of coffee,” the tailor gave a curt nod with a small smile.   
  
Grabbing an apple from the basket on his counter he eyed it before offering it to his guest. Robbie declined it with a soft shake of his head. Taking a bite from the mildly tart fruit, he began to think. “Should we talk to them now? I'm a little worried about your brother. His text was so long and jumbled,” he looked at his phone sitting by the coffee maker.   
  
“After coffee. As much as I want to waltz on over to your brother’s place, I want to be awake for it,” Robbie took another long swig of coffee before he refilled his mug.   
  
“Good idea,” Sport nodded. They stood in his kitchen in silence, the occasional soft sip or crunch the only noise. It was comfortable.   
  
Robbie single-handedly drank the entirety of the pot of coffee, only claiming that that was the bare minimum he needed to head to Íþró’s. Using water from the sink Robbie quickly fixed up his hair before firing off two texts. Gathering up his vest he leaned down to kiss Sport, their lips lingering. “Good luck with Glanni,” he brushed another kiss against his lips before the tall man was out the door.   
  
Firing a quick text to Glanni he decided he should at least change out of his sleep rumpled shirt. 

* * *

Glanni looked like absolute hell. His eyes were red rimmed and swollen, his nose a deep red and dry, flaking. His makeup was smeared all over his face and he didn't look like he had slept at all last night.   
  
He followed the tall dancer to their lounge, sitting on the couch beside the tall man. He wasn't able to speak, Glanni’s misery wrapped around himself like a shawl. “I couldn't concentrate. He sent me home. I hurt my ankle,” long fingers grazed one of his ankles, speaking in short choppy sentences. “I had been think about how we met, how good things were.”   
  
**We had been dating for a couple months, but they were great. Íþróttaálfurinn never pushed for anything more than the occasional hand holding, snuggles and kisses. He brought so many flowers, I couldn't understand any of them. I never bothered to try. I used them more as a way to tell others that he was mine. That wasn't fair of me. That wasn't fair to Íþróttaálfurinn’s feelings.** ****  
****  
_I had noticed that Glanni had begun to seem further and further from me. Even if he was beside me, long fingers intertwined with mine, that he wasn't there. I began to worry after him, I spent more time waiting around our dorm than I did in class it seemed. If he didn't want to be found, he made himself scarce. The weekends were the worst._   
  
**I wouldn't come home, I stayed out like I had before. I… I began to dance regularly. After a while, I began to do the unthinkable. I started seeing the customers. It started out as dumb things, a coffee date here, a dinner date there. They would buy me things even if I wasn't actually giving them what they wanted.**   
  
_New pieces of jewelry, new clothes, fancier makeup than I had ever seen in my life had begun to show up on his side of the room. I thought maybe he had gotten a pay raise, maybe the patrons were tipping him better. I had no reason to doubt him as long as he had my cardigan and the flowers went with him._   
  
**I kept his cardigan all the time. I hated the color of it. I still do. I still have it. I kept bringing the flowers with me. I continued to curl up next to him to sleep. I couldn't bare to be on my side of the room with all those things other people had bought for me. I know he was losing sleep waiting up for me. That didn't stop me, I kept going out on those dates. Blowing off Íþró. All because I never took the time to look up what those flowers meant.** ****  
****  
_I would stay up, I would miss classes. My marks dropped. The professors all worried for me. Suggested I take some time to myself. I never did. I couldn't tell them why. It was easier to see Glanni occasionally on campus on my way to classes than for me to wait around our dorm. I would pace relentlessly, until someone would tell me to knock it off. I would stare at the growing collection of things and I would worry. Was he out so late because he was working?_   
  
**One day one of the customers asked why I was wearing that awful cardigan when she had purchased a nicer one for me. One that suited me better than an oversized rumpled yellow one that I refused to part with. I smiled and said it meant something to me. She looked at me with pitying eyes, said that if I truly cherished it, I would take better care of it. She hadn't been wrong, I hadn't washed the thing in ages, the color more grey with dirt, the sleeves dark and stretched out. I left it in the dorm. Maybe it would start to smell like him again.** ****  
****  
_The cardigan wound up in with my clothes. I washed the poor thing, it had seen better days. One of the buttons was loose and I even reattached it. I kept it in bed with me. It never left the dorm, it stayed in bed with me. Glanni came back less and less. The flowers would sit on his bed, their petals fading, unclaimed._   
  
**I gave in. I stopped going back. There was no way that Íþró actually liked me. I was awful. I ended up picking the richest guy, he was my sugar daddy. I earned every last thing he bought me. I stayed with him, commuting from his place to school. When he asked me what I did during the day, he offered to pay for my classes. I declined. There was no way I could look Íþró in the eyes if I did that. Speaking of, when I saw him on campus he was looking really rough. Dark bags under his eye, he looked thinner, he looked like the life had been sucked right out of him. He deserved better than me. I was a lying cheating jerk.** ****  
****  
_I wasn’t eating. I wasn’t sleeping. Glanni never came back. His things collected dust, his clothes began to get musty. I did my best to keep things clean for him. Deep in my heart I didn’t want to give up on him. When I saw him in the halls he would dart away, never meeting my eyes. Something deep in my chest hurt. What had I done? Did I upset him with one of the flowers I had given him? I tried to think of all the things I had done that might have upset him but I couldn’t think of one._   
  
**I knew Íþró was upset and I was the cause. I finally found myself in the library, a book of flowers in hand. I saw all the meanings of all the flowers he had ever given me, but they didn’t sink in. I wrote down the flowers I needed. I looked up where to buy them. Once I had gathered them I arranged them, tied them together. I put the mismatched bouquet in my closet. I still had to wait, the bouquet wasn’t ready yet.** ****  
****  
_I hadn’t seen Glanni at all. I had given up on seeing him come back to the room. What I hadn’t been expecting was the bouquet where my cardigan had been folded on my bed. The whole thing was withered. A bouquet of withered flowers meant rejected love. He was rejecting me. On closer inspection I saw that each flower was different. A pink carnation saying ‘I’ll never forget you’, a red carnation saying ‘my heart aches for you.’ Forget-me-nots for memories and true love. A red rose for love and respect, coral colored rose for passion. A snap dragon for deception and presumption, the peony beside it for shame. A magenta zinnia for lasting affection. The final two flowers in the center of the bunch was a yellow chrysanthemum for slighted love, and the purple hyacinth saying ‘I’m sorry’, ‘forgive me’ and sorrow._   
  
**I skipped classes. I wrapped myself in his cardigan, I applied for a dorm room change. I couldn’t stand to see him. It hurt too much. I saw all those flowers, wilted on my bed. They all spoke of his love for me. I broke things off with the man who was housing me. I couldn’t stand being around one person. I moved place to place. Person to person. Men and women, it didn’t matter. None of them could compare to sweet, soft Íþró. Nothing could compare to when I did see him, I was hanging off someone else’s arm. The complete look of hurt on his face felt like knives in my heart. I pulled the other person in for a kiss. I couldn’t stand to look into his hurt blue eyes any longer.** ****  
****  
_I hadn’t been the only one to see Glanni that night. A few of my classmates also saw him, but not at the same time I had. They saw him at the strip club. Dancing. He ended up going into the back with some well-off young woman. The people around me began whispering, wondering what had happened. Some people even claimed they had seen him with other men and women weeks ago. I knew though. I knew that he had been unfaithful. I had known deep down for some time._   
  
**I couldn’t avoid him for forever. I had to get my things to get out of the dorm. He sat on my bed. Waiting for me. He had asked me what he did wrong. “Nothing,” I said. He could only ask my why, those blue eyes, filled with tears gazed at me. “Because I hate myself and can’t be happy.”** ****  
****  
_I tried to tell him he deserved to be happy, that I wanted to make him happy. That I wanted to protect him. I told him that he didn’t have to sleep with his patrons to make more money. That I would find a way to keep him safe from things like that. He just looked at me, his grey eyes looked empty and hurt. “Please let me protect you.”_   
  
**I gathered the few of my things, the things I no longer needed went into trash bags. I worked around Íþró, his hands clenched together between his knees. Before I left, I pushed him back slightly and kissed him. I kissed him like I would never see him again. “I’m so sorry. I love you.”** ****  
****  
_It was the only time he had said those words to me. Before I could grab him he was gone. All I could do was cry brokenly into this empty room. This empty room full of memories of him. His soft smile, his laugh. His terrible dance moves in the middle of the night. His face while studying a particularly hard text. His long limbs wrapped around him. The feel of his lips against his. It felt like his heart was dying. To no longer be able to see or hear Glanni again was killing him._   
  
**I ended up dropping out of classes. My new room mate didn’t out me. In fact, he left me alone to wallow in my own sorrow. He was nothing like Íþró. He wasn’t considerate. He didn’t have a dumb little accent to make him sound adorable. He didn’t have a routine sleep cycle. He did bring him a flower, muttering something about being afraid for his life. An azalea floated down in front of his face. Temperance, or ‘please take care of yourself for me’. It was like Íþró knew I was just laying around doing nothing with my life. I decided I needed to go do something.** ****  
****  
_I ended up graduating. I had already used my savings to purchase a few buildings. I was bringing in money. Now I only had to find Glanni. It had been years. I wasn’t even sure I still felt the same way. The only way was to find him. I went from club to club. None of the super fancy places I would normally associate with Glanni had ever heard or seen of him. I wondered if he still even lived in the city. I did find a man who was peddling his hand-made clothes at a farmer’s market. A man who looked a lot like Glanni. He said his name was Robbie. He lived with his older brother in a flat just outside of the downtown core. He was selling his clothes to make some money for his schooling. I gave him my business card. Told him to contact me if he or his brother ever needed a job._   
  
**I still don’t really know how Íþró found us. He somehow found Robbie, then he found me. He bought the small bar I worked at. He looked better. He looked healthy. Seeing him again hurt. I realized that I still loved him. That I might never love anyone else the same way. His skin was darker, he was bigger. He was everything I remembered. He was something new. He still had all of my heart.** ****  
****  
_When i saw him, he was dancing. I knew why he was still dancing. He was great at it, all eyes were glued on him. Without thinking I bought the bar, i bought the dancer’s contracts. I met them all. Each had their own story. Only one wouldn’t tell me his. He acted high and aloof, he would flirt with me constantly. I knew he didn’t mean it. I still loved him, seeing him act this way, hurt. I closed myself off. I had to separate my feelings from my work. It was hard to do._   
  
**I still love him Sportacus. I don’t know what to do. When I fell and hurt myself, he lifted me up. His strong arm were just like I remembered. His heartbeat was just as I remembered. What can I do?** ****  
**  
**_Good god. Robbie, what can I do? When he fell last night, I ran to him. I was scared. He was so small in my arms. He was just like he was years ago. Those grey eyes stared into mine and, god. I love him and I don’t know what to do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glanni isn't a great person, and they're both left hurting because of it.
> 
> The ending is kinda cliff-hanger-y but that's how this is going to roll my friends.
> 
> They will all be happy eventually. I promise.


	17. How to Help?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to remind everyone that Stéffi is Stephanie's stage name.
> 
> Also I know you want them to talk, but we have to get them there first.

Sportacus had left Glanni with the other dancer with the pink hair, Stéffi. The woman swept the poor lanky man up in a hug. Moving around the flat like she lived there too, she disappeared and reappeared with a mug of steaming hot chocolate. Small marshmallows bobbed in the dark liquid, Glanni’s long fingers wrapping around the pink mug offered to him. She grabbed Sport by the elbow and drew him towards the exit. “Leave him to me. You should go figure out how to help these two idiots. I’m sick of them dancing around each other,” her soft brown eyes crinkled at the corners with a smile, but no joy reached their depths.   
  
He wasn’t sure how to respond to the woman, and frankly, he couldn’t remember what he had said. Only Glanni’s words echoed in his head. Glanni had hurt Íþróttaálfurinn, but everything that happened seemed to have stemmed from Glanni’s self-doubt. It didn’t pardon what Glanni had done to his brother, but just maybe if they talked they could work past it. Some say that something like this might make their bond even stronger. First he had to find out how his brother felt about the tall dancer.   
  
Once he was back at his apartment, he decided to check his apartment, grab his phone that he had forgotten. The tall form of Robbie sat against his door, forehead pressed to his knees, phone held loosely at his side. Shuffling closer alerted the tailor to his presence, once he had realized it was Sport he stood and strode towards him. He waved his phone around frantically, “Don’t you ever check your phone?”   
  
Sport bit the side of his cheek slightly, offering a half-shrug, “I forgot it?”   
  
“You  **forgot** it?” the tailor exclaimed.   
  
“I’m sorry Robbie. I just put it down, I got changed and I left without it,” he hung his head slightly.   
  
A sound that was half-way exhausted, half-way exasperated escaped the taller man. “I spoke to your brother. We have to do something about them,” Robbie tapped his foot impatiently against the floor.   
  
“Well why don’t we head in, that way we don’t disturb the neighbors,” gently he rested his hand against the small of the taller man’s back, guiding him towards the door.   
  
“Good. I need more coffee,” Robbie groused under his breath.   
  
With the tall man settled on his couch, a fresh cup of coffee in his hands, he let out a soft sigh. Settling beside the man he finally looked at his screen, a few unread messages lighting up his notification screen. A message from Stéffi, saying she finally got Glanni to settle down for a nap. A message from Íþró saying the club was closed for the night, it stated that everyone was getting paid anyways, apologizing for the inconvenience. Several chopped up messages from Robbie, some saying that their brothers were hopeless, that if they still liked each other they had to grow the hell up and talk to each other. Saying that if Íþró would just buy a bar at the drop of a hat for Glanni, they should both get a fucking clue.   
  
Sport could only stare at his phone. Robbie got up for a refill for his coffee, soft clinks barely registered in his ears, almost lost over the sound of Glanni asking him what to do. Robbie stood in his field of vision, a mug held in his outstretched hand. The soft floral scent of chamomile intermingled with mint reached his nose and he took the mug gratefully. The tailor sat much closer, leaning against him bodily, “What do we do?”

“Lock them in a closet? Is that too childish?” he rested his head on the taller man's shoulder.

“Probably. Also Glanni can pick locks, I'm also fairly sure your brother can break down any door,” Robbie’s breath ruffled his hair, a soft kiss being placed on his scalp.

The soft kiss made his heart soar, he didn't think that Robbie would be this affectionate, he was pleasantly surprised. “You're right about the door. I don't want to pay damages if they break anything,” he nuzzled into Robbie.

A soft hum, “Maybe we should all go to lunch, abandon them like they abandoned us that one time.”

Sport smiled, “I don't know that'll work either. They might just leave without talking.”

“Maybe we could get them alone at the bar? Recreate the moment Íþró saw Glanni?” he questioned the tailor, unsure what he was talking about. Robbie told him the whole of Íþróttaálfurinn’s story, Sport giving Glanni’s right after. 

They sat there contemplating the stories they shared. Their fingers intertwined, mugs in opposite hands. His thumb ran over the thinner thumb of his companion. The weight on his heart felt lighter with Robbie there. 

“Do you think Glanni will dance by himself?” Sport turned slightly to press a kiss to Robbie’s cheek.

“Honestly, probably not.”

“Maybe we should just tell them straight. That they should talk to each other?” he took a sip from his cool tea.

A small derisive chuckle sounded from the tailor, “I've tried telling Glanni that for years. As soon as I saw them looking at each other I knew something was going on between them. He's never listened to me.”

“They asked us for help Robbie. Íþró might not listen to me, but he might listen to you. The same could be said for Glanni.”

“I mean, it could. Is it worth putting all our cards on the table?” Robbie pressed another kiss to his hair.

“I think it is. They say they love each other. They've been communicating with flowers in their own strange way,” Robbie sat up.

“The purple flower! That wasn't from his mystery date! It was from Íþró!” he turned excitedly. Thankfully the man's mug was empty, it waved around with the frantic movements. 

Sport gave a small smile, “I think something happened. Maybe they hadn't separated right away? Maybe my brother said or did something to upset Glanni?”

“Glanni came back maybe fifteen minutes after you had dropped me off.”

“They would have had to have been together almost the entire time then… Íþró showed up shortly after I had gotten back. He left almost immediately afterwards though. He was dressed differently than he had been at lunch now that I think about it.”

“You don't think?”

“They went on a lunch date?”

They sat and pondered it. It didn't really make sense that they left the two of them alone to have their own date. Especially when they couldn't even talk to each other. “I don't think so. Maybe Glanni texted Íþró and he wanted to apologize for the guy hurting his feelings?” the tailor didn't sound very sure of himself.

In fact Sportacus wasn't sure what to make of the situation either. None of it made sense, the only way would be to question them and he wasn't sure they would give away their secrets so easily.

Soft lips pressed against his and the wheels in his mind screeched to a halt. A small hum escaped him as another kiss was pressed to his lips, “Let's not overthink things, alright?”

Sportacus nodded, “Alright.”

Robbie leaned back against the couch, but still kept contact with Sport, “Let's try your idea. We'll message them, send them to the bar. See if either one stands the other up.”

Nodding, “I think they'll both go. I think they need this Robbie.”

“I hope you're right Sport,” the tall man placed another kiss to his scalp.

The tailor got up, taking the dancer’s mug with him. When he returned with another cup of coffee, the shorter man grimaced, “Maybe you shouldn't have another cup?”

“I'm going to need the energy for dealing with Glanni eventually. As much as I would love to stay another night, I'm sure he'll need me at some point.”   
  
Sportacus couldn’t really argue that, Glanni had clung to Stéffi like his life depended on it. He wouldn’t be shocked if he was the same way with Robbie. Unlocking his phone he opened up a new message to Glanni. Typing slowly, he told the man that he should talk to Íþróttaálfurinn. That Sport felt it important to talk about what had happened. They were adults. Reminding him that the club would be empty tonight, he suggested the two of them talk there. It would be a private setting, no one to disturb them.   
  
Showing his phone to Robbie, the taller looked over the message before sending it. His message to Íþró almost identical. “All we can do is hope,” the taller man gave him a small smile and a soft shrug of one shoulder.   
  
Their phones chimed almost simultaneously, Glanni would go to the bar. The message on Robbie’s phone echoing the response he had seen from the older dancer. Sport pressed a chaste kiss to Robbie’s lips, “All we can do is be there for them if they need us. The rest is up to them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're going to talk. Next chapter. I know you all are dying after the last chapter, but it'll be worth it. I promise.


	18. The Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so sorry about the wait guys. It just wouldn't write itself.

Maybe he should have waited for Íþróttaálfurinn, but locks couldn’t stop him from doing what he wanted. The few safety lights barely cut through the thick curtain of darkness filling the club. Making his way through the space he stared at the darkened stage, the dim lights barely catching on the pole. The soft sound of his heels echoed around him as he made his way to the stage. Glanni pulled himself up to sit on the raised flooring, staring out at the tables and the dark pit where the bar was.    
  
This was where he had run to, thinking that Íþró would never find him. Jokes on him, the shorter man found him. Looking out into the darkness he could remember the day he first started working here. The manager had been shocked that such a good dancer wanted to work in a hole-in-the-wall establishment like this. Glanni had been running. He had still been trying to run.   
  
When they had kissed in the small restaurant, it had reminded him of how soft and sweet the shorter man was. That he hadn’t always been the stoic mask he portrayed to everyone. It reminded Glanni of how small and pitiful he could be. He would run dancers and clientele out of the bar using any means if someone got too close to the owner. Stringing people along and tearing them down.    
  
Íþró deserved better. Not like Glanni had believed what Sport had said about arranging them to meet. Hopping down from the stage he shifted over to the music booth just off to the side of the stage. Flipping a few of the switches, testing all the lights, he hummed. Setting the lights to a dim setting, no direct lighting on any set part of the stage, he eyed the music set up. Turning the sound system on he found the auxiliary cord, plugging it into his phone. Setting it to a playlist with mostly music he had listened to back when he was in college he made his way back to the stage.    
  
He stood there under the lights, the heat of them warming his skin. Wrapping himself up in this odd blanket of nostalgia he just let the music move him. This dance wasn’t like what he normally did on stage. He just let the music move him, like it used to so many years ago. He wasn’t sexualizing his dance, himself. It was nice to just move and dance for himself.   
  
A slower song came on and instead of bouncing around he only shifted his weight side to side. A throat was cleared, drawing his attention to the foot of the stage in front of him. “May I have this dance?” Íþróttaálfurinn stood there, one hand resting on the stage, the other holding the back of his neck.   
  
Glanni could only smile and nod, holding his hand out. The shorter man easily jumped up onto the stage, brushing himself off slightly. Gently taking Glanni’s hand in his own, his other hand wrapping around his waist. They swayed side to side in time to the music, the dancer’s other arm looped around the short man’s shoulders. “I didn’t think you would come,” he sighed.   
  
“I didn’t think you would break into the club,” the shorter chuckled slightly.   
  
“You going to press charges?”   
  
“No.”   
  
“Why are you here?”   
  
“I,” he paused a moment, “I wanted to see you. To talk to you.” They stayed silent for a while, rocking side to side, even after the song had changed. “I wasn’t sure you would want to talk, to see me. Especially after that last flower.”   
  
He bit his lip, the flower had said that he was frigid and heartless, but he had deserved it. “I wanted to see you. I always have. I just tend to run away even if I want to do something else instead. I deserved that flower,” he kept his eyes closed so he didn’t have to look at the man he was dancing with.   
  
“We both know that’s just your insecurities talking.”   
  
He chuckled darkly, “I don’t know why you would waste your time on me.”   
  
“Maybe because I care for you. More deeply than you believe me to. Not everyone is as superficial as you believe them.”   
  
“I know,” Glanni took a deep breath. “Instead of talking to you about how I had been feeling, I just swept it under the rug. I hadn’t known at the time, what the flowers you had given me meant. I never asked, because a part of me doubted how you felt.”   
  
“I cherished you. With all of my heart.”   
  
“I loved you. I just wasn’t sure what that meant. To me. You. What we had.”   
  
“Did you have to be so self-destructive about it? I still worry after you. When you fell on stage yesterday I could feel my heart in my throat. I was scared for you Glanni,” Íþró stopped swaying, holding Glanni in place, resting his forehead against the taller man’s collarbone.   
  
“It’s not the first time I’ve twisted my ankle here,” he chuckled softly.   
  
“That’s not the point,” Íþró snapped backwards.   
  
“I know Íþróttaálfurinn, I know,” Glanni rested his forehead against the shorter man’s. “I can’t help but deflect. I can’t help but try to hide behind the familiarity of the past while. It’s scary.”   
  
“I don’t want that. I don’t want to hold you at arm’s length. I’m still upset about what happened. How you left. How you dropped out of my life. You took my heart with you. It hurt. I lost sleep. I didn’t eat. I also don’t want to let you go ever again. You can’t just go behind my back like that. If you need space, if I’m making you uncomfortable, talk to me. Glanni, that’s all I want. For now. I will never push you, ever. You know that,” his fingers bit into Glanni’s hips.   
  
He carded his long fingers through the shorter man’s hair, “If I push you? Than what? You don’t have to push me for things, but you also need to talk to me. You can’t be so selfish as to keep all your wants and needs to yourself.”   
  
“I want you Glanni. I need you to talk to me,” blue eyes stared into his. “What do you want?”   
  
Glanni smiled slightly, humming in thought. The man he was leaning on gave him an unimpressed look. Leaning forward slightly, he brushed his lips against Íþró’s, as tenderly as possible. “I want you too,” his smile widened slightly.   
  
“You’re not going to run away anymore are you?”   
  
“I can’t promise that. But if I do run, are you going to chase me right away this time?”   
  
“I should have chased you immediately. You’re right. Maybe things would have been different if I had,” Íþró’s hand cupped Glanni’s jaw.   
  
“Who knows. I was devastated by what I had done to you, sure you would never forgive me,” he leaned into the calloused hand on his jaw.   
  
“I didn’t think I would get over the hurt, but when I saw you here dancing. You were still hurting, you had not forgiven yourself. It was in that moment I think I forgave you,” his thumb brushed across his cheekbone.   
  
“I still haven’t forgiven myself. You didn’t deserve that from me,” Glanni’s eyes fluttered shut at the soft touch.   
  
“You can’t beat yourself up forever. It’ll effect your dancing. Although I wouldn’t be opposed to you quitting.”   
  
Glanni opened his grey eyes to look down at his boss, his love, “If I quit this place goes under. Besides, I enjoy dancing. Everyone’s eyes on me, being in the spotlight.”   
  
“You always falter when I look your way during practice. Like the time you lost your grip on the pole,” Íþró’s lips thinned into a line.   
  
“I get a little self-conscious when you look at me, because you look at me, not what I’m doing,” Glanni flushed lightly.   
  
“Of course I look at you, you look amazing. You just have this natural charisma,” he smiled.   
  
“Well I know I look good. It’s hard not to show off when you look like I do,” the tall dancer preened.   
  
The hand holding his jaw pulled down and their mouths met, “You always have my attention. Has nothing to do with how you look.”   
  
Glanni could feel his face heating up, “Well I’m sure it makes it easier.”   
  
“I want to look at you even if you didn’t look like you do,” Íþróttaálfurinn smiled at him. “I love you, I want to look at you no matter what. I want to spend time with you.”   
  
“Dumbass,” Glanni mumbled covering his face with one hand.   
  
“Where did all your confidence go?”   
  
“Away. Can we kiss again?”   
  
Íþróttaálfurinn chuckled, prying the long fingers from the other’s face. He pressed another kiss to the dancer’s mouth, “We can kiss as much as you like.”   
  
“Good, I have plans for you. Let’s go,” long fingers intertwined with the stockier ones and pulled towards the edge of the stage. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it sorta worked out for them. A bit bumpy, but it's working out


End file.
